IC-MBI 


fc.30 


FLASHLIGHTS 


MARY  ALOIS 


FLASHLIGHTS 


FLASHLIGHTS 


BY 
MARY    ALDIS 

AUTHOR  OP 
"  THE     PRINCESS    JACK " 


NEW   YORK 
DUFFIELD  &  COMPANY 

1916 


Copyright,  1916,  by  MART  ALDIS 


THE  author  desires  to  make  acknowledgement  for  permis 
sion  to  reprint  to  Poetry,  The  Little  Review,  The  Masses, 
Others,  The  Trimmed  Lamp,  The  Survey,  The  Los  Angeles 
Graphic,  The  Chicago  Herald  and  The  Chicago  Evening  Post. 


371642 


CONTENTS 
I.  CITY  SKETCHES 

PAGE 

The  Barber  Shop 3 

Love  in  the  Loop 8 

Converse 12 

Window-wishing 16 

A  Little  Old  Woman   .  20 


n. 


Design       27 

The  World  Cry 28 

Brown  Sands 29 

Seeking 30 

May  11,  1915 31 

Watchers 32 

To  Maurice  Browne 35 

Prayers 37 

My  Boat  and  I        39 

Pictures  42 


PAGE 


Forward,  Singing! 44 

Barberries 46 

Two  Paths 48 

When  You  Come 50 

Rest 52 

Moriturus  Te  Saluto 54 

Flashlights 56 

Floodgates 63 

Chloroform 69 

The  Beginning  of  the  Journey       75 

III.  STORIES  IN  METRE 

The  Prisoner 81 

Ellie 86 

The  Park  Bench 92 

The  Sisters 105 

Reason 110 

Her  Secret 115 

A  Little  Girl                                                            .  117 


I 

CITY  SKETCHES 


Go  forth  now,  moods  and  metres, 
Sing  your  song  and  tell  your  story; 
You  have  companioned  me 
Through  hours  grave  and  gay, 
What  will  you  say 
To  him  whose  curious  hand 
Shall  turn  these  pages? 

Soon  all  my  joy  in  setting  forth 

My  vagrant  thoughts 

Shall  pass 

Into  the  silence; 

Soon  I  shall  be 

One  with  the  mystery. 

My  book  upon  some  quiet  shelf 

Beneath  your  touch 

Shall  wake,  perhaps, 

And  speak  again 

My  wonder,  my  delight, 

My  questioning  before  the  night — 

And  as  you  read 

Somewhere  afar 

I  shall  be  singing,  singing. 


THE  BARBER  SHOP 

I  SPEND  ray  life  in  a  warren  of  worried  men. 

In  and  out  and  to  and  fro 

And  up  and  down  in  electric  elevators 

They  rush  about  and  speak  each  other, 

Hurrying  on  to  finish  the  deal, 

Hurrying  home  to  wash  and  eat  and  sleep, 

Hurrying  to  love  a  little  maybe 

Between  the  dark  and  dawn 

Or  cuddle  a  tired  child 

Who  blinks  to  see  his  father. 

I  hurry  too  but  with  a  sense 
That  Life  is  hurrying  faster 
And  will  catch  up  with  me. 

Right  in  the  middle  of  our  furious  activity 
Two  soft-voiced  barbers  in  a  little  room, 
White-tiled  and  fresh  and  smelling  deliciously, 
Flourish  their  glittering  tools 
And  smile  and  barb 

And  talk  about  the  war  and  stocks  and  the  Honolulu  earth 
quake 
With  equal  impartiality. 


I  like  to  go  there. 

Time  seems  slow  and  patient 

While  they  tuck  me  up  in  white 

And  hover  over  me. 

The  room  gives  north  and  west  and  the  sunset  sky 

Lights  the  grey  river  to  a  ribbon  of  glory 

Where  silhouetted  tugs 

Like  tooting  beetles  fuss  about  their  smoky  businesses; 

Besides,  in  that  high  place 

No  curious  passer-by 

Can  see  my  ignominious  bald  spot  treated  with  a  tonic, 

Nor  can  a  lady  stop  and  bow  to  me,  my  chin  in  lather, 

As  happened  once; 

So  I  go  there  often 

And  even  take  a  book. 

There's  another  person  all  in  white 

Who  comes  and  goes  and  manicures  your  nails 

On  application. 

One  can  read  with  one  hand  while  she  does  the  other. 

Because  I  feel  that  Life  is  hurrying  me  along 

With  horrid  haste 

Soon  to  desert  me  utterly, 

I  used  to  take  my  Inferno  in  my  pocket 

And  reflect  on  what  might  happen 

Were  I  among  the  usurers. 

One  day  a  low-pitched  voice  broke  in. 

I  listened  vaguely, 

4 


What  was  the  woman  saying? 

"Please  listen  for  a  moment,  Mister  Brown, 

I've  done  your  nails  for  almost  half  a  year; 

You've  never  looked  at  me." 

I  looked  at  that, 

And  sure  enough  the  girl  was  young  and  round  and  sweet. 

She  coloured  as  I  turned  to  her 

And  looked  away. 

I  waited  silently,  enjoying  her  confusion. 

The  words  had  been  shot  out  at  me 

And  now  apparently  she  wished  them  back. 

*'What  do  you  want?"  I  said. 

Again  a  silence  while  she  rubbed  away. 

I  opened  my  Inferno  with  an  ironic  glance 

Towards  Paradiso  waiting  just  beyond. 

"Well,  rub  away,  my  girl,"  I  thought, 

"You  opened  up,  go  on." 

The  book  provoked  her. 

"I'm  straight,"  she  said. 

"I  never  talked  like  this  before. 

The  fellows  that  come  round — 

Good  Lord! 

Showin'  me  two  pink  ticket  corners 

Stickin'  out  the  pocket  of  their  vest, 

'Say,  kid, — tonight, — you  know,' 

Thinkin'  I'll  tumble 

For  a  ticket  to  a  show! 

They  make  me  sick,  they  do, 

Boobs  like  that; 

5 


You're  different.     I  want  to  know 

What's  in  that  book  you  read. 

I  want  to  hear  you  talk. 

Oh,  Mister,  I'm  so  lonesome! 

But  I'm  straight,  I  tell  you. 

I  read,  too,  every  evening  in  my  room, 

But  I  can't  ever  find 

The  books  you  have. 

I  expect  you  think  I'm  horrid 

To  talk  like  this— but— 

I  got  some  tilings  by  an  Englishman 

From  the  Public  Library. 

Say,  they  were  queer! 

He  thinks  a  woman  has  a  right 

To  say  out  if  she  likes  a  man; 

He  thinks  they  do  the  looking 

Because  they  want — 

Oh,  Mister,  I'm  so  terribly  ashamed 

I'll  die  when  I  get  home, 

An'  yet  I  had  to  speak — 

I'd  be  awful,  awful  good  to  you,  if  only, 

Please,  please,  don't  think  I'm  like — 

Don't  think  I'm  one  o*  them! 

Whatever  you  say,  don't,  don't  think  that!" 


She  stopped,  and  turned  to  hide  her  crying. 

I  looked  at  her  again, 

Looked  at  her  young  wet  eyes, 

At  her  abashed  bent  head, 


Looked  at  her  sweet,  deft  hands 
Busy  with  mine  .  .  . 

But— 

Not  for  nothing 

Were  my  grandfather  and  four  of  my  uncles 

Elders  in  the  Sixth  Presbyterian  Church 

Situated  on  the  Avenue. 

Oh  not  for  nothing 

Was  I  led 

To  squirm  on  those  green  rep  seats 

One  day  in  seven. 

And  now, 

The  white-tiled,  sweetly-smelling  barber  shop 

Is  lost  to  me. 

What  a  pity! 


LOVE  IN  THE  LOOP 

THEY  sat  by  the  fountain  at  a  table  for  two, 

The  traditional  couple — 

An  awkward,  ill-dressed  girl, 

With  a  lovely  skin  and  a  country  smile, 

And  the  man  who  was  paying  for  her  dinner. 

There  they  were — 

Exploiter  and  Exploited. 

I  could  see  only  his  back,  clad  in  grey  tweed. 

His  neck  rolled  over  his  collar 

In  a  thick  red  fold, 

And  his  hands,  which  he  waved  about, 

Were  fat  and  white  with  shiny  nails 

And  diamond  rings. 

I  wondered  if  he  was  offering  her  better  clothes 

For  the  girl  looked  troubled. 

Her  shirt-waist  wasn't  fresh, 

Her  skirt  was  draggled, 

And  her  feet,  curled  up  under  the  chair, 

Shifted  themselves  uneasily,  seeking  cover 

For  most  lamentable  shoes; 

But  oh,  her  skin! 

8 


Soft  rose  and  the  delicate  white  of  summer  mist. 
Her  hair  was  the  brown  of  hazelnuts  after  a  frost, 
Glinting  to  saffron  as  she  turned  her  head 
Quickly  from  side  to  side 
Like  an  enquiring  dove. 

Soon  oysters  came; 

She  eyed  them  with  distrust, 

Then  ate  one  thoughtfully  and  made  a  face. 

He  seemed  concerned 

And  beckoned  the  waiter  to  remove  the  dish, 

Asking  if  she'd  rather  have  a  "country  sausage." 

She  showed  her  baby  teeth  in  a  happy  smile 

And  sausages  were  brought. 

She  ate  them  all  while  he  watched  her  enviously, 

Putting  a  little  white  pellet  in  some  water 

For  his  second  course. 

Champagne  was  set  before  them  and  he  filled  her  glj 

While  he  turned  his  bottom  side  up. 

She  sipped,  and  made  another  face,  and  choked, 

Then  tried  again  and  laughed. 

"I  do  believe  it's  good,"  she  said, 

And  finished  the  glass, 

Holding  it  out  for  more. 

"You'd  best  look  out,"  I  heard  him  say 

As  he  slid  his  hand  along  the  table-cloth. 

She  cringed  away. 

"Oh,  please,  please  don't!"  she  said; 

But  he  hitched  his  chair  softly  around  the  table. 

9 


I  watched  it  all, 

Wondering  miserably  if  it  was  my  duty 

To  warn  the  girl, 

And  whether  she  would  prove  clinging  if  I  did. 

Finally  to  secure  her  hands  he  turned  himself. 

My  God,  what  a  mug! 

His  beady  eyes  over  his  glistening  cheeks 

Blinked  like  a  hurrying  pig's: 

His  protuberent  lips  wiggled  themselves 

In  amourous  expectancy 

While  little  beads  of  ecstasy  bedewed  his  brow. 

I  turned  my  chair  around  and  raised  my  paper. 

Suddenly  I  heard  her  cry,  "Oh,  Mister! 

That  fuzzy  stuff  you  made  me  drink — my  head!" 

And  she  grabbed  her  coat  and  slithered  along  the  floor 

To  the  front  door,  calling  over  her  shoulder. 

"Don't  come.     I  want  some  air, 

I'll  be  back  in  a  minute  or  two." 

After  a  startled  forward  step 

He  settled  back  and  called  the  waiter, 

Who  hurried  to  busy  himself  expectantly 

With  the  inevitable  reckoning. 

By  the  time  it  was  ready,  Mr.  Amourous-One 

Was  deep  in  the  stock  reports  and  dead  to  the  world. 

The  waiter  stood  on  one  foot  and  then  on  the  other, 

Finally  wandering  off. 

10 


After  some  twenty  minutes  of  troubled  scrutiny 

The  paper  was  laid  down, 

And  Mr.  Amourous 

Looked  at  his  watch  and  jumped, 

Then  turned  the  bill  and  burrowed  in  his  pocket, 

Pulling  out  change. 

Next  came  a  leather  wallet — 

And  then  what  a  bellowing  rent  the  astonished  air! 

"Eight  hundred  dollars  gone!"  he  yelled. 
"Hi!   get  that  girl,  I  tell  you,  GET  THAT  GIRL!" 
But  nobody  stirred. 
Exploiter  and  Exploited — 


11 


CONVERSE 

THEY  were  two  disembodied  heads  on  bath  cabinets, 

Just  like  "Une  tete  de  femme"  by  Rodin,  in  a  show, 

Save  that  each  head  was  topped 

By  a  ruffled  rubber  cap, 

One  rose-lined  grey,  one  brown. 

They  were  two  female  heads, 

And  yet  they  were  not  pretty, 

At  least  not  then. 

They  fixed  their  level-fronting  eyes  on  a  sanitary  wall 

In  front  of  them 

And  waited. 

The  Bath  Attendant  turned  a  crank, 

Consulted  a  thermometer,  and  vanished. 

Time  draggled  warmly  by. 

Finally  one  head  heaved  a  heavy  sigh  and  turned  itself 
And  looked  at  the  other  head, 
Which  bit  its  lip  and  frowned. 

Since  names  seem  meaningless 
When  souls  converse, 

12 


Let  us  call  these  souls  quite  simply  Grey  and  Brown. 
The  one  that  heaved  and  turned  itself  was  Brown; 
The  one  that  bit  its  lip  was  Grey. 

"Are  you  pretending  that  you  didn't  see  me?" 
Queried  Brown. 
"Oh  no!"  said  Grey. 

"I've  been  meaning  to  have  a  talk  with  you,"  said  Brown. 

"And  why  not  now?" 

"And  why  not  now?"  said  Grey. 

"You  may  as  well  understand,"  continued  Brown, 
"You've  got  to  give  him  up." 
"Him  up?"  said  Grey. 

"That's  what  I  said,"  said  Brown. 

"You  very  well  know 

His  duty  is  to  me.    I  bear  his  name, 

I've  given  him  seven  children  and  a  step, 

All  likely  boys. 

He's  very  fond  of  them,  you  know." 

"I  know,"  said  Grey. 

"Well,  what  have  you  got  to  say?"  Brown  trembled  on. 
"Why  don't  you  speak?" 
Grey  murmured  softly, 
"Isn't  it  hot  in  these?" 

Brown  looked  at  her  and  laughed. 

"You're  pretty  cool,"  she  said, 

13 


"But  I'd  like  to  tell  you  here  and  straight  and  now, 

I'm  tired  of  nonsense, 

Tired  of  worrying, 

And  very,  very  tired  of  him  and  you." 

"Of  him  and  me,"  said  Grey. 

"I've  cried  and  then  I've  laughed 

And  said  I  didn't  care," 

Said  whimpering  Brown. 

"I've  dressed  myself  up  beautifully 

And  then  again  I'd  slump," 

Said  sniffling  Brown. 

"But  nothing  mattered. 

If  he  came  home  bright  and  gay,  of  course  I'd  know 

He'd  been  with  you, 

And  if  he  came  home  different,  then  I'd  know 

He  wished  he  were, 

So  gradually  it  didn't  matter  much 

Which  way  he  was. 

And  then  I  thought  I'd  try  and  keep 

The  boys  from  knowing, 

So  I'd  make  up  lies  and  plan; 

With  seven  and  the  step 

It  took  considerable  planning, 

But  luckily  the  little  ones  don't  notice. 

And  now  I've  got  you  here,  I'm  going  to  have  my  say!" 

"Your  say,"  said  Grey. 

"I'm  going  to  get  your  promise  here  and  now 

To  give  him  up  for  good, 

14 


Do  you  understand?" 
"For  good,"  said  Grey. 
"Oh  yes,  I  understand." 

"Or  else,"  and  beetling  Brown 

Grew  dark  and  terrible, 

"You'll  be  the  co-respondent  in  a  suit!" 

"A  suit,"  said  Grey. 

"I  said  a  suit,"  said  Brown, 

"I  mean  a  suit. 

Moreover,  as  you  haven't  said  a  word 

I'll  bring  it  soon." 

"It  soon,"  said  Grey. 

And  then  the  Attendant  came, 

Looked  at  the  clock  and  then  the  thermometer, 

Got  sheets  and  led  them  out. 

"Unless — "  said  Brown. 

"Oh  yes,  unless — "  said  Grey. 


15 


WINDOW-WISHING 

Oh  yes,  we  get  off  regular 

By  half  past  six, 

And  six  on  Saturdays. 

Sister  an'  I  go  marketing  on  Saturday  nights, 

Everything's  down. 

Besides  there's  Sunday  corain'; 

You  can  sleep, 

Oh  my,  how  you  can  sleep! 

No  mother  shakin'  you 

To  "get  up  now," 

No  coffee  smell 

Hurryin'  you  while  you  dress, 

No  Beauty  Shop  to  get  to  on  the  tick  of  the  minute 

Or  pony  up  a  fine. 

Sister  an'  I  go  window-wishin* 

Sunday  afternoon,  all  over  the  Loop. 

It's  lots  of  fun. 

First  she'll  choose  what  she  thinks  is  the  prettiest 

Then  my  turn  comes. 

You  mustn't  ever  choose  a  thing 

The  other's  lookin'  at, 

And  when  a  window's  done 

The  one  that  beats 

16 


Can  choose  the  first  time  when  we  start  the  next. 
The  hats  are  hardest 

'Specially  when  they're  turnin'  round  and  round. 
But  window- wishin's  great! 

Then  there's  the  pictures, 

Bully  ones  sometimes, 

Sometimes  they're  queer. 

Sister  an'  I  go  in  'most  every  Sunday. 

We  took  Mother  'long  last  week, 

But  she  didn't  like  'em  any  too  well. 

Mother's  old,  you  know, 

We  have  to  kinda  humour  her. 

Next  day  she  couldn't  remember  a  single  thing 

But  the  lions  on  the  steps. 

You  know  what  happened  the  other  night? 

Sister  and  I  didn't  know  just  what  to  do, — 

A  gentleman  came  to  see  us. 

He  said  Jim  asked  him  to 

Sometime  when  he  was  near. 

Jim's  my  brother,  you  know. 

He  lives  down  state. 

We  have  to  send  him  part  of  our  wages  regular, 

Sister  an'  I; 

He  doesn't  seem  to  get  a  steady  place, 

And  Mother  likes  us  to. 

She's  dotty  on  Jim. 

Sometimes  I  get  real  nasty — 

A  great  big  man  like  that! 
17 


Anyway  his  friend  came  walkin'  in 
And  said  Jim  sent  his  love. 
Sister  an'  I  didn't  exactly  know  what  to  do, 
And  Mother  looked  so  queer! 
Her  dress  was  awful  dirty. 
He  said  he  was  livin'  in  Chicago, 
And  Sister  said  she  hoped 
He  had  a  place  he  liked. 
He  only  stayed  a  little  while, 
Till  half  past  eight, 
And  then  he  took  his  hat 
From  under  the  chair  he  was  sittin'  on 
And  went  away. 

I  said  just  now  it  happened  the  other  night, 
But  it  was  seven  weeks  ago  last  Friday  evening. 
He  said  he'd  come  again. 
I  dunno  as  he  will, 
Sister  an'  I  keep  wonderin'. 
We  dressed  up  -every  night  for  quite  a  while 
And  stayed  in  Sundays. 
Yesterday  we  thought 
We'd  go  down  window-wishin* 
And  what  do  you  think? 
Just  as  she'd  picked  a  lovely  silver  dress 
Sister  jerked  my  arm, 
Then  all  of  a  sudden  there  she  was 
Cryin'  and  sniffiin'  in  her  handkerchief 
Standin'  there  on  the  sidewalk, 
And  what  do  you  think  she  said? 
"I'd  like  to  kill  the  woman  that  wears  that  gown!" 
18 


I  tell  you  I  was  scared, 

She  looked  so  queer, 

But  she's  all  right  today. 

Oh  thank  you,  two  o'clock  next  Saturday  the  tenth? 

I'll  put  it  down, 

A  shampoo  and  a  wave,  you  said? 

I'll  keep  the  time, 

Good-morning. 


19 


A  LITTLE  OLD  WOMAN 

THERE'S  a  twinkling  little  old  woman 

Brings  me  sandwiches  after  my  Turkish  bath. 

Her  cheeks  are  brown  and  pink, 

And  her  eyes,  behind  her  gold-bowed  spectacles, 

Smile  in  a  curious  fashion  as  if  to  say 

"I  know  you're  worried  about  that  letter  in  the  pocket  of 

your  dress, 
Hanging  out  there,  but  I'll  take  care  of  it." 

She  sets  the  tray  down  on  a  chair  beside  my  couch 
And  trots  away  to  another  languid  lady  in  a  sheet, 
And  as  I  fall  asleep  she  says  to  me 
"Don't  worry  honey,  I'll  take  care  of  it." 
Perhaps  it's  only  in  my  dreams  she  says  it, 
But  anyway  she's  there. 

Once  after  she  had  hooked  me  up 

She  raised  her  sober  dress 

To  show  me  that  she  too  could  wear  a  lace-trimmed  petticoat; 

And  a  dainty  thing  it  was,  with  tiny  rosebuds 

Festooned  all  around. 

She  dropped  her  skirt  and  laughed. 

"I've  got  one  .  .  .  too,"  she  said. 

This  was  uncanny,  so  I  said  Good-day. 

20 


Next  time  I  went  I  met  him  at  the  door 

With  a  market  basket! 

It  seems  he  brought  the  dainties  every  day 

She  made  up  into  sandwiches  for  us  who  lolled  about. 

I  took  a  look  at  him, — 

A  delicate,  chiselled  face  with  soft  blue  eyes, 

Under  his  chin  from  ear  to  ear  a  fringe  of  yellow  down, 

Around  a  bald  spot,  curls  of  whity-gold; 

He  blinked  a  little  as  she  gave  him  charges 

Then  wandered  thoughtfully  away 

Clutching  his  basket. 

He  wore  a  black  frock  coat  too  big  for  him, 

And  on  his  head,  a  round  black  hat  like  a  French  Cure's. 

So  that  was  why  she  wore  the  petticoat 

And  smiled  so  knowingly — 

But  how  she  worked! 

I  wouldn't  work  like  that. 

Perhaps  she  kept  that  little  thing  for  pleasuring. 

Well,  this  is  a  woman's  world,  why  not, 

If  so  be  that  he  pleased  her? 

The  steamy,  scented  atmosphere  that  day 

Seemed  teeming  with  intrigue; 

I  looked  at  the  strapping,  bare-legged  wench 

Who  brought  my  sheet 

Enquiring  mutely,  "Have  you  got  a  lover?" 

And  when  a  person  next  me  roused  herself 

To  ask  the  time, 

I  thought,  "Ah-ha!    He's  waiting!" 

21 


It  chanced  when  sandwiches  were  brought 

I  found  myself  alone 

With  her  of  the  spectacles  and  petticoat. 

I  wanted  to  go  to  sleep, 

But  I  wanted  more  to  find  out  how 

She  got  a  lover, 

And  how  she  kept  him. 

After  some  skirmishing  I  asked  straight  out, 

"Was  that  your  husband  with  the  market  basket?" 

"My  husband's  dead,"  she  said,  and  grinned 

And  took  a  chair  beside  my  couch. 

"Who  is  he,  then?"  I  said. 

"He's  mine,"  she  answered.     "Mine! 

I  paid  for  him  five  hundred  dollars  cool, 

And  now  he  likes  me!" 

I  sat  up  at  that. 

"You  paid  for  him?"  I  gulped. 

"Why  yes,  he  lived  up-stairs,  you  know. 

His  heart  is  bad;    he  hadn't  any  cash; 

He  got  hauled  up  on  a  breach-of -promise  suit; 

I  paid  it  for  him. 

Now  he  lives  with  me!" 

She  emphasized  her  "me"  triumphantly. 

I  looked  her  over. 

Certainly  there  was  something  there  of  vividness, 

Of  quick  vitality. 

He  and  his  funny  hat  and  goldy  curls — 

22 


Well,  anything  may  be. 

"Are  you  happy  now?"  I  asked. 

She  smiled  and  bridled. 

"The  business  pays,"  she  said. 

"You  ladies  pay  good  prices  for  your  food 

And  then  the  tips  besides. 

He  gets  the  things  for  me  and  brings  'em  fresh, 

Then  what  do  you  suppose  he  does  the  rest  of  the  time? 

(His  heart  is  bad,  you  know) 

Writes  verses  all  day  long  for  the  Sunday  papers; 

Mostly  they  don't  get  in, 

But  every  now  and  then  he  gets  two  dollars. 

I  bought  him  an  Underwood  last  week. 

He  was  so  pleased, 

Only  the  punctuation  isn't  right. 

It  isn't  a  second-hand;   cost  me  a  hundred  and  twenty-five; 

I  saved  it  up — " 

The  bell  rang  and  she  rose. 

"Say!    please  don't  tell  them  anything  about — 

About — my  husband." 

And  she  vanished. 


II 


DESIGN 

IF  all  the  world's  a  stage,  why  do  we  know 
Naught  of  the  drama  we  the  actors  play? 

Are  we  but  puppets,  we  who  come  and  go 

Mumbling  our  parts  through  life's  quick-passing  day? 

What  if  some  master  hand  design  the  show 

Planning  a  spacious  pattern  cunningly! 
Time,  color,  drifting  human  shapes  all  go 

Into  a  great  discordant  harmony: 

Let  this  one's  part  be  cast  in  delicate  grey, 

Let  this  a  heavy  purple  shadow  be, 
Here  let  there  come  one  clear,  cold,  bluish  ray 

And  here —  but  hold!   one  actor  suddenly 

In  desperate  rebellion  cries  his  part — 
A  scarlet  tumult  from  his  own  hot  heart. 


27 


TEE  WORLD  CRY 

JOY,  light,  and  love  I  crave 

And  shall  discover — 
Life's  wild  adventure  opening  to  my  will: 

High  thought  and  brave, 

The  rapture  of  a  lover, 
The  Vision  gleaming  from  yon  western  hill. 

Beyond  my  present  sight 

There  lies  some  sweet  allure, 
Some  crested  glory  waiting  to  be  won; 

Shimmering  in  light, 

Beautiful  and  sure, 
Beckoning  bright  hands  that  call  me  on. 

I  know  not  where  it  lies, 

Nor  whither  I  go,  nor  how 
The  way  is  paved — with  pleasure  or  with  pain; 

But  the  search  is  in  my  eyes, 

And  the  dust  upon  my  brow 
Shall  turn  to  aureoled  gold  when  I  attain. 

Oh,  old  old  hope — 

Unfulfilled  desire! 
28 


Pitiful  the  faith, 
Beautiful  the  fire! 

Know,  soul  who  criest, 
Thy  gleaming  from  afar, 
Thy  quest  of  wild  adventure, 
Thy  sweet  far  star 

Shall  be  the  bitter  path 
To  a  high  stern  goal; 
So  bow  thy  head 
To  thine  own  soul. 


BROWN  SANDS 

MY  stallion  impatiently 
Stamps  at  my  side, 

Into  the  desert  far 
We  two  shall  ride. 

Brown  sands  around  us  fly, 
Winds  whistle  free, 

The  desert  is  sharing 
Gladness  with  me. 

The  madness  of  motion 

Is  mine  again. 
Forgotten  forever 

Sorrow  and  pain. 
29 


Into  the  desert  far 

Swiftly  we  flee, 
Knowing  the  passionate 

Joy  of  the  free. 


SEEKING 

SWIFT  like  the  lark 
Out  of  the  dark 

One  cometh,  singing; 

Silent  in  flight 
Out  of  the  night 
Answer  is  winging. 

Forth  to  the  dawn 
Leaps  like  a  fawn 

A  cry  of  high  greeting, 

Into  the  sun 
Two  that  have  run 
Seeking,  are  meeting. 


30 


MAY  11,  1915 

A  PRAYER  is  forming  on  my  tightened  lips — 
Lord  grant  that  I  may  keep  my  soul  from  hate! 

I  have  known  love,  I  have  been  pitiful, 

Lord,  I  would  keep  my  grief  compassionate! 

Pain-maddened  cries  I  hear  from  out  the  sea, 

Upstaring  at  me,  faces  of  the  dead; 
Those  silent  bodies  seem  to  call  aloud, 

Those  silent  souls  are  still  and  comforted. 

And  we  are  here  to  bear  the  weight  of  pain — 
Oh,  keep  the  poison  from  its  awful  task! 

Lord,  let  me  be  as  they  are  ere  I  hate, 
Let  me  love  on!    this,  this  is  what  I  ask! 

However  long  the  way,  there  is  a  turning, 

Somewhere  beyond  the  storm  there  lies  a  land 

Where  Peace  abides,  where  love  shall  live  again, 

And  men  shall  greet  with  friendly  outstretched  hand 

While  little  children  laugh,  and  women  weep 

With  happiness — Oh,  Lord,  until  that  hour 
Keep  Thou  my  hope,  keep  Thou  my  tenderness, 

Keep  Thou  my  trust  in  Thy  far-seeing  power! 
31 


WATCHERS 

I  WATCH  the  Eastern  sky 

For  a  sign  of  dawn 

Long  delayed. 

Such  stillness  is  around 

That  every  separate  sense 

Is  twice-attuned,  twice-powerful, 

And  loneliness  enwraps  rne  like  a  sea 

Into  whose  unplumbed  depths  I  must  go  down: 

A  sea  unsatisfied 

Where  drifting  shapes,  wan-eyed, 

Reach  forth  wan  arms 

Towards  them  who  pause  to  look  at  their  own  souls 

Mirrored  upon  the  sea. 

Somewhere  a  loon 

Sends  forth  its  weary  cry  across  the  dark. 

Oh,  wailing  bird,  I  know,  I  know! 

I  think  tonight  the  soul  of  the  world  is  desolate 

And  you  and  I  its  watchers. 

Yet  cease!    oh  cease! 

The  night  air  quivers  and  resounds 

To  bear  your  cry  across  the  sleeping  lake, 


And  I  would  have  your  silence 

While  I  make 

My  own  complaint. 

For  I  would  ask  why  we  who  have  so  little  space 

To  live  and  love  and  wonder 

Must  go  down  into  eternal  mystery 

Alone : 

And  I  would  know 

Why,  since  that  awful  loneliness  must  be, 

We  go  about  as  strangers  here  on  earth 

And  meet  and  laugh  and  mock  and  part  again 

With  never  a  look  into  each  others'  eyes, 

With  never  a  question  of  each  others'  pain. 

So,  even  as  I  hear  your  melancholy  plaint 

Across  the  sleeping  lake, 

I  send  my  questing  cry  across  the  world — 

And  as  I  watch  and  listen, 

Through  the  stillness    • 

There  comes  to  me  an  echoing  and  a  far  reverberation 

Of  the  many  who  have  gone 

Into  the  limitless  mystery, 

And  thus  they  speak — 

"We  too  have  known  your  questing, 

We  too  have  stretched  our  arms  forth  to  the  night 

And  clasped  its  nothingness, 

We  too  have  lived  and  loved  and  wondered 

For  a  little  space 

33 


And  then  gone  onward, 

And  we  seek  across  the  silence 

To  send  our  voices 

Out,  out,  across  the  dark." 

Is  it  your  voice  I  hear,  oh  far,  strange  bird, 

Or  is  it  theirs — 

Theirs  who  have  gone  onward 

Alone  and  unafraid? 

Is  there  an  answer  I  may  sometime  find, 

Or  is  it  that  our  lips  are  dumb, 

Our  eyes  are  blind, 

When  love  would  come? 


Now  faint  light  conies  upon  the  shadowy  sky, 
The  East  is  waking  and  the  day  begins. 
You  send  your  cry  across  the  quivering  lake, 
I  send  my  question  out  across  the  world, 
We  watch,  we  two, 
Alone. 


34 


TO  MAURICE  BROWNE 

(On  his  creation  of  Capulchard  in  Cloyd  Head's  "Grotesques") 

SHADOWS  are  round  me  as  the  dawn  breaks, 

Shadows  with  long  white  swaying  arms 

And  anguished  faces. 

I  see  them  meet  and  touch  and  part 

Crying  their  desire, 

While  a  bitter  figure  moulds  them 

In  a  shifting  decoration 

Which  enchants,  eludes  and  maddens, 

Imprisoning  my  dreams. 

Now  they  plead  and  droop  and  cower, 

Holding  wan  hands 

To  whatever  gods  there  be, 

Praying  intercession 

From  the  malign  enchantment 

Of  their  decorative  doom 

Whence  they  weep  their  silent  tears. 

Oh,  Draughtsman  terrible 

Who  puts  out  the  moon  and  stars, 

Who  smiles  and  waves  a  hand 
35 


And  puppet  hearts  are  broken, 
Let  them  love! 
Only  a  moment  in  a  theater, 
Only  a  moment  under  the  stars, 
All  there  may  be  before  the  end — 
Let  them  love! 


The  show  is  over. 

The  swaying  puppets  of  a  little  longer  hour 

Go  forth  and  cry  out  their  desire 

To  a  Master  of  Decoration, — 

Their  God  unseen, 

And  He,  like  you,  smiles,  puts  forth  a  hand 

And  blots  the  moon  and  stars 

And  tears  the  glory  from  the  earth  and  sky 

And  cries: 

"Back  to  your  places,  fools! 

You  shall  not  love!" 


PRAYERS 

DAY  by  day  I  tread  my  appointed  way 
Greeting  the  sun  with  dutiful  intent, 
Seeing  his  slow  decline  into  the  West, 
Watching  draw  near  my  night  of  quietude. 

Each  day  I  see  fade  slowly  back  to  join 
Those  other  days,  unlived,  unloved,  unmourned, 
That  have  passed  by  in  grave  processional 
With  never  a  golden  one  to  mark  their  passing. 


Sometimes  at  night  I  ask  the  friendly  stars 

"Tell  me,  what  do  I  here?     Why  have  I  breath 

And  this  fair  body  in  a  world  of  shadows? 

Why  do  I  live?" 

But  the  stars  shine  silently 

And  make  no  answer. 

Sometimes  I  ask  of  God, 
"Dear  Lord,  I  love  Thee  well 
But  Thou  art  far  away — 
Couldst  Thou  not  send  to  me 

Someone  on  earth  to  love? 
37 


So  should  I  love  Thee  more." 
But  God  sends  no  one. 

Sometimes  I  ask  the  far  tumultuous  sea, 

"Oh  Sea,  give  me  of  your  great  beating  heart! 

Let  me  be  swept  on  the  whirlwind, 

Let  me  be  lulled  and  rocked, 

Let  me  be  storm-tossed,  made  mad, 

Then —  let  me  perish!" 

But  the  Sea  roars  on  unheeding. 

So  day  by  day  I  tread  my  appointed  way 
Greeting  the  sun  with  dutiful  intent, 
Seeing  his  slow  decline  into  the  West, 
Watching  draw  near  my  night  of  quietude. 


MY  BOAT  AND  I 

MY  staunch  little  boat  is  tugging  at  its  moorings 

Eager  to  be  free, 

Eager  to  slip  out  on  the  great  waters 

Beyond  the  returning  tides, 

Out  to  the  unknown  sea. 

My  staunch  little  boat,  unwilling  prisoner, 

Frets  and  pulls  at  the  anchor  chain 

While  the  wind  calls, 

"Come!    come! 

I  will  bear  you 

Out  to  the  unknown  sea!" 

Long  time  my  boat  and  I  have  plied  the  harbour 

On  little  busy  journeyings  intent, 

Long  time  with  wistful  gazing 

I  have  listened  to  the  calling — 

The  winds  with  buffeting  caress, 

The  waves  with  ceaseless  urge — 

Calling  "Rest,  rest,  rest, 

Rest  on  an  unknown  sea." 

And  now  we  are  away 
Into  the  mystery. 
4  39 


Quietly  the  swaying  waters 
Rock  and  beguile  and  soothe  us 
That  we  may  not  know 
We  are  so  far  away. 

Along  the  shore 

Are  hands  stretched  out. 

What  would  you  with  me  now, 

Oh  pleading  hands? 

I  come  not  to  you  any  more, 

I  have  set  my  sail 

Out  to  the  unknown  sea, 

Would  you  have  me  stay  adventuring? 

Would  you  have  me  come  again 

To  be  amidst  you 

With  alien  eyes  and  a  heart  unquiet? 

Oh  cease  your  crying! 

I  come  not  back. 

Long  time  my  little  boat  and  I 

Have  fretted  at  the  mooring, 

Long  time  we  have  looked  out  beyond  the  bar 

With  a  great  questioning,  and  a  great  wonder, 

And  then,  an  hour  came  which  held  the  parting 

And  we  slipped 

Out,  out,  to  the  unknown  sea. 


The  hands  stretched  out  have  faded  from  my  sight, 

The  shore  is  dim, 

40 


The  mountains  fade  into  the  limitless  blue, 

Only  the  wind  and  the  sea  companion  me, 

Singing 

"Rest,  rest,  rest, 

Rest  on  an  unknown  sea." 


41 


PICTURES 

I  SAW  a  little  boy  go  hurrying 

Towards  an  old  man  nodding  in  the  sun. 

He  tweaked  him  by  the  sleeve 

And  gazed  at  him  with  insistent  frowning  eyes 

Asking  his  question. 

The  old  man  blinked  and  muttered 

And  the  child  let  go  his  sleeve 

And  drooped  and  turned  away. 


I  saw  a  mother  counselling  her  daughter 

About  her  lover,  and  the  girl  was  sullen, 

Looking  from  out  averted  eyes 

For  means  to  go  to  him; 

And  the  mother  bowed  her  head 

And  turned  away. 


I  saw  two  lovers  meet  with  hungry  arms, 

And  kiss  and  speak  and  kiss  again — 

Then  speak  with  challenging  tones  and  fall  apart. 

I  saw  them  turn  with  tightened  lips  made  dumb 

42 


And  eyes  quick-quenched  and  dark. 
Slowly  they  went  their  ways. 


I  saw  a  woman  kneeling  in  a  church, 

Her  head  was  bent  upon  worn  hands 

Clasped  tightly. 

Her  dress  was  black  and  poor. 

After  a  time  she  rose  and  shook  her  head, 

Then  beat  her  fist  upon  the  rail 

And  clattered  noisily  down  the  aisle. 

At  the  door  she  paused, 

Narrowed  her  eyes  at  the  holy  water 

And  passed  on. 


43 


FORWARD,  SINGING! 

LISTEN,  girl,  stand  there  near  me, 
Give  me  your  two  fluttering  hands, 
Then  listen. 

Little  hurrying  human  beings 

Are  important  and  significant 

Only  in  so  far  as  they  can  stand  alone. 

Most  of  them  stand  sideways, 

Propping  themselves 

Against  this  brother  or  that  brother 

Or  this  sister  or  that  sister, 

Leaving  each  prop 

Only  to  carom  swiftly  to  the  next. 

Now  shall  not  every  one  of  these 
Sometime  discover 
If  his  prop  fall  down 
He  falls  as  well? 

Listen,  beautiful  child, 

I  would  carve  my  destiny  alone! 

As  a  keen-eyed  captain  steers  his  ship 

By  the  light  of  the  far  north  star 

Awake,  alert,  alone. 
44 


So,  laughing  girl 

Whom  I  call  to  my  side, 

Hear! 

I  stand  by  myself. 

I  can  love,  aye,  with  a  fierce  flame, 

But  I  love  none  so  much,  no  man,  no  woman, 

That  his  passing  or  his  forgetfulness 

Shall  undo  me. 

I  and  my  soul 

Stand  beyond  the  need  of  comforting. 

None  has  power  to  make  me 

Helpless,  incomplete,  beholden. 

Now,  bright  child,  golden  girl, 

Warm  woman  with  the  fluttering  hands 

Whom  desire  has  brought, 

Will  you  come  to  my  arms? 

I  will  give  you  love, 

No  other  lover  can  give  you  love  like  mine, 

Come! 

Ah,  that  is  well: 

Quick,  your  mouth, 

And  then  forward,  singing! 

But, — if  you  had  not  come, 

Laughing  girl, 

I  would  have  gone  forward  singing 

Alone! 


45 


BARBERRIES 

You  say  I  touch  the  barberries 

As  a  lover  his  mistress? 

What  a  curious  fancy! 

One  must  be  delicate,  you  know, 

They  have  bitter  thorns. 

You  say  my  hand  is  hurt? 

Oh  no,  it  was  my  breast, 

It  was  crushed  and  pressed — 

I  mean — why  yes,  of  course,  of  course — 

There  is  a  bright  drop,  isn't  there? 

Right  on  my  finger, 

Just  the  color  of  a  barberry, 

But  it  comes  from  my  heart. 

Do  you  love  barberries? 

In  the  autumn 

When  the  sun's  desire 

Touches  them  to  a  glory  of  crimson  and  gold? 

I  love  them  best  then. 

There  is  something  splendid  about  them; 

They  are  not  afraid 

Of  being  warm  and  glad  and  bold, 

They  flush  joyously 
46 


Like  a  cheek  under  a  lover's  kiss, 

They  bleed  cruelly 

Like  a  dagger  wound  in  the  breast, 

They  flame  up  madly  for  their  little  hour, 

Knowing  they  must  die — 

Do  you  love  barberries? 


47 


TWO  PATHS 

TODAY  it  seemed  God  bent  to  me  and  said, 

"Pilgrim,  you  are  weary,  are  you  unaware 

You  have  two  paths?" 

And  I  answered,  wondering, 

"Tell  me  of  them  that  I  may  choose." 

And  God  said 

"You  have  set  your  face  towards  a  far  goal, 

To  be  attained 

Only  with  heartbreak  of  endeavor. 

It  is  written  should  you  choose  this  path 

Many  times  you  shall  faint  and  falter, 

Raising  yourself  with  bruised  hands 

And  bewildered  eyes, 

And  when  at  last 

You  see  the  ending  of  the  journey, 

Before  eternal  silence  comes, 

You  shall  hear 

A  little  clamouring  and  tinkling  of  men's  voices: 

But  you  will  smile  quietly 

And  turn  away." 

"And  the  other  path?"  I  asked. 

In  a  different  voice  God  said, 
48 


"The  other  path  is  short, 

It  ends  but  a  little  way  ahead, 

There  is  no  attainment,  no  acclaim; 

Only  darkness,  quiet, 

Rest  from  desire, 

And  memory 

In  the  heart  of  the  beloved." 

And  I  answered, 
"I  have  chosen." 


49 


WHEN  YOU  COME 

("There  was  a  girl  with  him  for  a  time.  She  took  him  to  her  room 
when  he  was  desolate  and  warmed  him  and  took  care  of  him.  One 
day  he  could  not  find  her.  For.  many  weeks  he  walked  constantly 
in  that  locality  in  search  of  her." — From  Life  of  Francis  Thompson.) 

WHEN  you  come  tonight 
To  our  small  room 
You  will  look  and  listen — 
I  shall  not  be  there. 

You  will  cry  out  your  dismay 
To  the  unheeding  gods; 
You  will  wait  and  look  and  listen — 
I  shall  not  be  there. 

There  is  a  part  of  you  I  love 

More  than  your  hands  in  mine  at  rest; 

There  is  a  part  of  you  I  love 

More  than  your  lips  upon  my  breast. 

There  is  a  part  of  you  I  wound 

Even  in  my  caress; 

There  is  a  part  of  you  withheld 

I  may  not  possess. 
50 


There  is  a  part  of  you  I  hate — 
Your  need  of  me 
When  you  would  be  alone, 
Alone  and  free. 

When  you  come  tonight 
To  our  small  room 
You  will  look  and  listen — 
I  shall  not  be  there. 


REST 

OFTEN  I  have  listened  curiously 
To  the  sound  of  a  simple  word 
All  seemed  to  know, 
And  wondered  why  I  could  not  find 
Its  meaning. 

Often  I  have  dreamed 

Of  that  great  Nothingness, 

That  Silence  which  shall  come, 

And  asked  if  that 

Were  rest. 

To  the  unquiet  sea 

I  have  gone  down 

Seeking  companionship, 

Calling  out  to  the  beating  waves 

"Do  you  too  ask  for  rest?" 

Of  the  wind  and  the  rain 

Singing  their  requiem 

Over  dead  summer 

I  have  asked, 

"You  will  be  quiet  soon; 

Where  do  you  find  rest?" 
52 


To  the  white  moon 

Sailing  serenely 

I  have  said, 

"You  are  dim  and  old  and  cold; 

Have  you  found  rest?" 

To  the  eternal  sun 

Uprising  solemnly 

I  have  cried  out, 

"And  this  new  day  you  bring, 

Will  it  hold  my  rest?" 

Once  to  my  heart  tumultuous 

There  came  a  gleaming, 

A  far  prophecy  that  like  a  fairy  benison  descending 

Gave  answer  to  my  questioning — 

Strange  message  lit  with  wonderment — 

"Deep  in  the  city's  labyrinthine  heart 

There  shall  be  moonlight  for  us  and  white  song." 

So  ran  the  words, 

And  like  a  diapason  of  sweet  sound 

Across  the  stillness, 

Echoing,  profound, 

There  crept  the  promise, — rest. 

And  then — you  came. 

I  turned  to  find  your  hand,  your  arms,  your  breast. 

Deep  in  the  city's  labyrinthine  heart 

You  held  me  close,  at  rest. 
53 


MORITURUS  TE  SALUTO 

WHEN  one  goes  hence 

By  his  own  hand  alone 

We  look  aside. 

In  a  hushed  tone 

We  say — "What  pain  has  gone  before 

The  sudden  end?" 

But  I  shall  go 

Because  I  know 

No  longer  can  the  earth 

Hold  any  other  joy  for  me 

Like  this. 

One  night  we  had  together, 

Only  one. 

In  all  the  years 

For  all  my  tears 

The  gods  have  given  me 

Only  one  night, 

And  it  is  over. 

Now  I  am  glad  to  go 

Into  the  Silence. 

54 


I  have  breathed  the  heights. 
I  should  but  know 
The  level  ways  and  paths 
Of  little  valleys, 

I  will   not,  this  should  be. 

So,   Beloved, 

Remember 

It  is  because  of  happiness, 

Not  sorrow, 

That  I  go. 

From  the  far  coolness 

Of  eternity 

I  shall  look  out 

To  the  grave  stars, 

Singing. 


55 


FLASHLIGHTS 

THE  winter  dusk  creeps  up  the  Avenue 

With  biting  cold. 

Behind  bright  window  panes 

In  gauzy  garments 

Waxen  ladies  smile 

As  shirt-sleeved  men 

Hustle  them  off  their  pedestals  for  the  night. 

Along  the  Avenue 

A  girl  comes  hurrying, 

Holding  her  shawl. 

She  stops  to  look  in  at  the  window. 

"Oh  Gee!"  she  says,  "look  at  the  chiffon  muff!" 

A  whimpering  dog 

Falters  up  to  cringe  against  her  skirt. 


56 


A  man  in  his  shirt  sleeves  lolls  against  a  tree, 

His  feet  stick  out, 

His  hands  lie  on  the  grass,  palms  up. 

He  stares  ahead. 

Now  and  again  he  turns  himself 

As  from  the  enshrouding  darkness  forms  emerge 

Dragging  their  feet,  arms  interlocked, 

Wan  faces  raised  to  the  flare  of  light. 

Sometimes  these  kiss, 

Scream  in  brief  laughter,  or  throw  their  bodies 

Prone  on  the  welcoming  earth. 

The  man  watches  them,  then  turns  his  head, 

Gets  himself  upon  his  feet 

And  walks  away. 


57 


Cam  lies   lopplin^  Sideways   iii    tomato  L'MIS 

Sputter  and  sizzle  at  head  and  foot. 

The  gaudy  patterns  of  a  patch-work  quilt 

Lie  smooth  and  straight 

Save  where  upswelling  over  a  silent  shape. 

A  man  in  high  boots  stirs  something  on  a  rusty  stove 

Round  and  round  and  round, 

As  a  new  cry  like  a  bleating  lamb's 

Pierces  his  brain. 

After  a  time  the  man  busies  himself 

With  hammer  and  nails  and  rough-hewn  lumber 

But  fears  to  strike  a  blow. 

Outside  the  moonlight  sleeps  white  upon  the  plain 

And  the  bark  of  a  coyote  shrills  across  the  night. 


58 


A  woman  rocking,  rocking,  rocking, 
A  small  hand  waving,  nestling: 
Outside,  lights  blurred  to  starriness 
And  summer  rain. 


Little  waves  slap  softly  and  monotonously 

Against  the  pier: 

A  triangle  of  geese  honk  by; 

On  the  darkening  sand 

Fresh  lines  traced  with  a  stick — 

"I  am  sorry,  Forgive," 

And  a  little  oblong  mound  with  a  cross  of  twigs. 

Near  by  a  girl's  hat  and  dainty  scarf. 


A  smell  of  musk 

Comes  to  him  pungently  through  the  darkness. 

On  the  screen 

Scenes  from  foreign  lands 

Released  by  the  censor 

Shimmer  in  cool  black  and  white 

Historic  information. 

He  shifts  his  seat  sideways,  sideways — 

A  seeking  hand  creeps  to  another  hand, 

And  a  leaping  flame 

Illuminates  the  historic  information. 


60 


Within  the  room,  sounds  of  weeping 

Low  and  hushed: 

Without,  a  man,  beautiful  with  the  beauty 

Of  young  strength, 

Holds  pitifully  to  the  handle  of  the  door. 

He  hiccoughs  and  turns  away 

While  a  hand  organ  plays 

"The  hours  I  spend  with  thee,  dear  heart.' 


61 


A  pink  feather  atop  of  a  greying  white  straw  hat, 

A  peek-a-boo  waist  and  skirt  showing  a  line  of  stocking 

Above  white  shoes, 

Stand  in  front  of  a  judge 

Who  leans  over  a  desk  of  golden  oak 

And  summons  forward  a  sulky,  slouching  boy. 

"You  are  required  by  this  Court,"  says  the  judge, 

"To  pay  over  to  this  woman 

One-third  of  your  weekly  wage 

For  the  support  of  your  innocent  child." 

And  the  clerk  of  the  court  calls  out 

"Next  on  the  docket?" 


FLOODGATES 

THE  MAN 

DEAR,  try  to  understand. 

I  wish  that  you  could  see, 

Now  I  am  free 

Of  all  the  fret  and  torment, 

The  little  daily  miseries  of  love, 

That  I  can  take  you  in  my  arms  at  night 

With  a  quick  tenderness, 

With  a  new  delight, 

Yet  go  my  way  untroubled  if  I  do  not  find  you, 

Forgetting  in  my  zest  for  many  things 

There  is  a  you. 

I  wonder  if  you  can  ever  understand? 

Do  you  not  know 

That  I  would  go 

Forth  now  to  meet  life's  great  adventuring 

Alone? 

I  would  be  unloosed  from  why  and  wherefore, 
I  would  not  be  stayed 

By  sorrowing  or  rejoicing, 
63 


Even  the  enchantment  of  your  nearness, 

Or  your  touch  at  night 

Is  powerless  any  more 

To  come  between  my  loneliness  and  me. 

They  say  that  prisoners  grow  to  love  their  chains, 

So  now,  after  long  years  of  bitter  reaching  out, 

Of  crying  to  the  winds 

And  clasping  only  shadows  of  my  dreaming, 

I  love  my  torment. 

We  are  such  old  companions, 

Loneliness  and  I! 

We  have  learned  to  ask  but  little  of  each  other; 

There  is  no  longer  any  turning  away 

With  hurt,  averted  eyes; 

So,  Beloved, 

Let  me  keep  my  loneliness  for  friend, 

The  only  friend  I  trust. 

When  you  and  I  first  met 

And  looked  to  each  other's  eyes 

Our  swift  desire, 

I  gave  with  reckless  hands 

My  life  into  your  keeping. 

Upon  your  eyes,  your  words,  your  body's  grace 

I  hung,  poor  fool,  a-tremble; 

For  you  had  power 

To  blot  the  brightening  day, 

To  irradiate  the  night, 

64 


With  your  sweet  hands 

To  lift  me  to  the  mountains  where  the  spirits  danced 

Or  drag  me  through  a  hell  of  furious  pain. 

And  you  would  like  to  have  that  power  again 

In  your  two  hands? 

Oh  no,  my  little  one, 

No,  my  pretty  one, 

Henceforward 

For  all  your  sighing 

You  shall  but  have  my  sudden,  strong  caresses, 

My  tenderness,  my  love, 

But  know 

That  out,  out,  out  I  go 

Into  the  sun 

Alone. 

THE  WOMAN 

So,  Man  of  mine! 

I  may  henceforward  ask 

Only  your  strong  caresses? 

I  am  your  little  one, 

I  am  your  pretty  one, 

Even  your  Beloved,  now  that  you  are  free 

Of  little  fret  and  torment. 

I  may  give  you  pleasuring, 

But  no  more  pain. 

Is  that  your  meaning? 

I  would  be  clear  at  last. 

Oh  Man  of  mine, 

65 


We  are  standing  face  to  face, 
Now  let  there  shine 
The  search-light  of  our  speech 
Across  the  night  of  silence. 

Before  us  two 

There  lie  dim  years  for  traversing, 

Behind,  a  mist 

Through  which  we  long  time  groped 

With  futile  hands, 

And  now,  today,  we  meet. 

Dear,  do  I  not  know 

That  there  were  gleams  across  the  darkness — 

Swift  lightenings 

Towards  which  we  onward  pressed 

As,  for  an  instant, 

Seeing  our  far  quest 

Within  our  grasp? 

Perhaps  these  were  your  beckoning  hands, 

Your  dancing  spirits  on  the  mountain  peaks, 

But  not  for  long  we  saw  them. 

And  now  today  it  seems 

That  I  must  find 

What  shall  be  done 

When  you  go  out  alone 

Into  the  sun. 

I  have  so  often  watched  your  silent  face, 
Your  quiet  mouth, 

Your  smooth,  white  brow, 
66 


And  longed  for  speech! 

I  have  so  often  wished  to  tell 

Of  pent-up  treasures  in  my  breast 

You  could  Tint  find ! 

I    \\oiiM    luivr  •Jvrn   y«»u   sii«-li   golden   wealth 

l-tad  you   !>ut   ci.iiic! 

Had   you    IMI!    >nid    "I    WMM!    y«»nr   H!!." 

But  you  were  dumk 

You  went  your  ways  silently 

And  never  asked  my  gift. 

Dear,  day  by  day  I  lifted  to  your  lips 

A  chalice  brimming  with  rich  wine, 

And  you  but  sipped  a  little  and  turned  away, 

And  the  wine  was  spilled. 

The  years  have  passed: 

There  may  not  be  upgathering 

Of  wasted  days, 

As  seasons  flushed  and  waned 

We  have  sown  and  reaped  and  harvested. 

Now,  what  shall  come? 

I  cannot  go  forth 

As  you,  into  the  Sun 

Alone, 

I  cannot  take 

My  loneliness  by  the  hand 

For  chosen  friend,  as  you. 

I  am  a  woman  and  I  want 

Not  tenderness, 

67 


Not  strong  caresses  only, 
But  the  soul  of  you, 
My  Man. 

THE  MAN 

Dear,  give  me  your  hands, 

Look  into  my  eyes  and  tell  me 

If  you  can  find  the  soul  of  me. 

I  think  it  has  gone  questing. 

Call  it  back! 

Recapture  the  winged  thing, 

And  I  will  give  it  gladly 

Into  your  keeping. 

But,  dear  heart,  be  fearful — 

Souls  are  delicate. 

What  if  mine  died  long  since, 

What  time  it  gave  up  seeking 

To  find  your  own? 

Your  eyes  are  wet,  forgive! 

Let  there  be  no  more  hurting, 

Joy  there  has  been  in  our  meeting. 

I  would  banish  weeping. 

Let  the  still  waters  wash  away  pain 

Into  the  sea  of  forgetting. 

Still  may  we  look  into  each  other's  eyes, 

Still  answer  to  the  senses'  quick  demand, 

But  as  the  years  have  marked  us  in  their  passing 

So  must  we  go  onward — 

Hand  in  hand  still, 

Yet  alone. 

68 


CHLOROFORM 

(Written  in  collaboration  with  Arihur  Davison  Ficke.) 

A  SICKENING  odour,  treacherously  sweet, 

Steals  through  my  sense  heavily. 

Above  me  leans  an  ominous  shape, 

Fearful,  white-robed,  hooded  and  masked  in  white. 

The  pits  of  his  eyes 

Peer  like  the  portholes  of  an  armoured  ship, 

Merciless,  keen,  inhuman,  dark. 

The  hands  alone  are  of  my  kindred; 

Their  slender  strength,  that  soon  shall  press  the  knife 

Silver  and  red,  now  lingers  slowly  above  me, 

The  last  links  writh  my  human  world  .  .  . 

.  .  .  The  living  daylight 

Clouds  and  thickens. 

Flashes  of  sudden  clearness  stream  before  me, — and  then 

A  menacing  wave  of  darkness 

Swallows  the  glow  with  floods  of  vast  and  indeterminate  grey. 

But  in  the  flashes 

I  see  the  white  form  towering, 

Dim,  ominous, 

Like  some  apostate  monk  whose  will  unholy 

69 


Has  renounced  God;    and  now 

In  this  most  awful  secret  laboratory 

Would  wring  from  matter 

Its  stark  ;md   appalling  answer. 

At  the  ^Mics  of  a   Kitl»T  lirll   In-  stnnds.   In  wrest  with  r;i  <,'<•!• 

fierceness 

l\l«»re  of    Unit  ilfirk    forKiddm    knowledge- 
Whcrefrom  his  soul  draws  fervor  to  deny. 

The  clouds  have  grown  thicker;    they  sway  around  me 

Dizzying,  terrible,  gigantic;    pressing  in  upon  me 

Like  a  thousand  monsters  of  the  deep  with  formless  arms. 

I  cannot  push  them  back,  I  cannot! 

From  far,  far  off,  a  voice  I  knew  long  ago 

Sounds  faintly  thin  and  clear. 

Suddenly  in  a  desperate  rebellion  I  strive  to  answer, — 

I  strive  to  call  aloud, — 

But  darkness  chokes  and  overcomes  me: 

None  may  hear  my  soundless  cry. 

A  depth  abysmal  opens, 

Receives,  enfolds,  engulfs  me, — 

Wherein  to  sink  at  last  seems  blissful 

Even  though  to  deeper  pain.  .  .  . 

0  respite  and  peace  of  deliverance! 
The  silence 

Lies  over  me  like  a  benediction. 

As  in  the  earth's  first  pale  creation-morn 

Among  winds  and  waters  holy 

1  am  borne  as  I  longed  to  be  borne. 

70 


I  am  adrift  in  the  depths  of  an  ocean  grey 

Like  seaweed,  desiring  solely 

To  drift  with  the  winds  and  waters;    I  sway 

Into  their  vast  slow  movements;    all  the  shores 

Of  being  are  laved  by  my  tides. 

I  am  drawn  out  toward  spaces  wonderful  and  holy 

Where  peace  abides, 

And  into  golden  seons  far  away. 

But  over  me 

Where  I  swing  slowly, 

Bodiless  in  the  bodiless  sea, 

Very  far, 

Oh  very  far  away, 

Glimmeringly 

Hangs  a  ghostly  star 

Toward  whose  pure  beam  I  must  flow  resistlessly. 

Well  do  I  know  its  ray! 

It  is  the  light  beyond  the  worlds  of  space, 

By  groping,  sorrowing  man  yet  never  known — 

The  goal  where  all  men's  blind  and  yearning  desire 

Has  vainly  longed  to  go 

And  has  not  gone: — 

Where  Eternity  has  its  blue-walled  dwelling-place, 

And  the  crystal  ether  opens  endlessly 

To  all  the  recessed  corners  of  the  world, 

Like  liquid  fire 

Pouring  a  flood  through  the  dimness  revealingly; 

Where  my  soul  shall  behold,  and  in  lightness  of  wonder  rise 

higher 
6  71 


Out  of  the  shadow  that  long  ago 
Around  me  with  mortality  was  furled, 
J 

I  rise  where  have  winds 
Of  the  night  never  flown; 
Shaken  with  rapture 
Is  the  vault  of  desire. 
The  weakness  that  binds 
Like  a  shadow  is  gone. 
The  bonds  of  my  capture 
Are  sundered  with  fire! 

This  is  the  hour 
When  the  wonders  open! 
The  lightning-winged  spaces 
Through  which  I  fly 
Accept  me,  a  power 
Whose  prisons  are  broken — 


.  .  .  But  the  wonder  wavers — 

The  light  goes  out. 

I  am  in  the  void  no  more;    changes  are  imminent. 

Time  with  a  million  beating  wings 

Deafens  the  air  in  migratory  flight 

Like  the  roar  of  seas — and  is  gone  .  .  . 

And  a  silence 

Lasts  deafeningly. 

In  darkness  and  perfect  silence 

I  wander  groping  in  my  agony, 

72 


Far  from  the  light  lost  in  the  upper  ether — 

Unknown,  unknowable,  so  nearly  mine. 

And  the  ages  pass  by  me, 

Thousands  each  instant,  yet  I  feel  them  all 

To  the  last  second  of  their  dragging  time. 

Thus  have  I  striven  always 

Since  the  world  began. 

And  when  it  dies  I  still  must  struggle  .  .  «, 


The  voice  I  knew  so  long  ago,  like  a  muffled  echo  under 

the  sea 

Is  coming  nearer. 
Strong  hands 
Grip  mine. 
And   words   whose   tones   are   warm   with   some   forgotten 

consolation, 

Some  unintelligible  hope, 
Drag  me  upward  in  horrible  mercy; 
And  the  cold  once-familiar  daylight  glares  into  my  eyes. 

He  stands  there, 

The  white  apostate  monk, 

Speaking  low  lying  words  to  soothe  me. 

And  I  lift  my  voice  out  of  its  vales  of  agony 

And  laugh  in  his  face, 

Mocking  him  with  astonishment  of  wonder. 

For  he  has  denied; 

And  I  have  come  so  near,  so  near  to  knowing.  .  .  . 

73 


Then  as  his  hand  touches  me  gently,  I  am  drawn  up  from 

the  lonely  abysses, 
And  suffer  him  to  lead  me  back  into  the  green  valleys  of 

the  living. 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  JOURNEY 

WHERE  are  you,  Dear? 

What  is  it  that  I  hold— 

A  shape,  a  phantom,  who  will  not  ease  my  pain? 

O  Beloved!     My  beloved! 

What  is  it  comes  between  our  seeking  arms? 

Lip  to  lip  we  press 

And  breast  to  breast, 

Straining  to  overleap  the  barrier, 
f  And  all  the  while  we  know 
\We  are  apart. 

We  know  tomorrow  we  shall  be 

More  horribly 

Alone. 

Do  you  remember 

When  we  first  cried  out  each  to  each? 

How  the  valleys  rang  with  laughter  and  gay  words 

And  eager  promises? 

Do  you  remember  how  we  told  each  other 

Pain  was  over, 

That  nothing  now  could  come 

We  could  not  still  with  kisses? 

Do  you  remember  those  first  days 
75 


When  the  world  was  lost  in  a  dream  and  a  forgetting 
And  eternity  was  ours? 

Then,  as  the  years  followed, 

Do  you  remember  how  we  found 

That  pain  must  be? 

How,  heavy-hearted,  we  gazed  bewildered 

Into  each  other's  eyes, 

Asking,  why? 

One  night  you  would  not  speak, 

And  when  I  pressed  you  for  your  cause  of  silence 

You  said  "I  tried  to  tell  you  once 

My  heart's  dim  heaviness, 

But  you  are  a  man,  you  can  never  understand." 

And  then  I  saw 

That  we  were  far  away  from  one  another, 

For  I  had  thought  the  same. 

And  after 

In  a  quick  ache  of  sympathy 

We  kissed  and  clung, 

And  then  you  slept. 

I  heard  the  little  sobbing  breaths 

Like  a  hurt  child's 

Of  a  loneliness  I  had  no  power  to  soothe. 

We  asked  so  much! 

We  looked  to  each  other  as  some  look  to  God, 

And  when  God  came  not 
76 


And  our  lifted  hands  were  empty 
We  cried  out  that  love  was  dead. 

We  have  grown  patient  since 

And  pitifully  wise, 

We  see  how  little  may  be  given, 

And  we  are  thankful 

Lest  there  be  nothing. 

Yet  even  when  I  lay  my  wearied  head 

Upon  your  knees  and  fall  asleep 

To  waken  with  your  hand  on  my  hot  brow, 

Then,  when  I  thank  God,  if  there  be  a  God, 

For  you — 

We  are  apart. 

Yesterday  I  watched  you 

Protect  the  child  against  the  winter  cold. 

Warmly  you  wrapped  him 

While  his  baby  face  laughed  back  at  you 

From  its  frame  of  softest  fur: 

I  think  a  great  hand  comes  and  wraps  us  so, 

Each  in  his  loneliness  as  in  an  enfolding  garment, 

That  we  shall  be  ready 

To  make  our  last  great  journeying 

Alone. 

As  the  years  go  onward 

Little  by  little  we  turn 

And  draw  away  from  love's  dominion, 

Little  by  little  we  loose  the  clinging  hands 

77 


That  hinder  from  adventuring, 

Oftener  and  more  often 

We  go  apart 

To  ask  ourselves 

The  inevitable  question. 

The  friends  we  seek  are  questioners 

Who  strive,  like  us,  to  cross  with  thoughts 

The  illimitable  void: 

Therefore,  Dear,  give  over 
Trying  to  comfort, 
Give  over  the  wish  to  yield  me 
All  I  need- 
Once  long  ago  I  lost  myself  in  you, 
Once  long  ago  I  was  but  part  of  you, 
Bereft  without  you, 
Mad  for  lack  of  you, 
Now  I  am  I, 
Preparing  to  go  onward 
When  the  end  shall  come 
Alone. 


78 


Ill 

STORIES   IN    METRE 


THE  PRISONER 

"WE  had  a  prisoner  once,"  the  Warden  said, 
"Who  was  no  common  man.     I  could  not  say 
To  make  it  clear,  where  lay  the  difference, 
And  yet,  and  yet, — something  was  there  I  know." 

"Tell  me  of  him,"  I  said,  drawing  a  chair, 
Knowing  that  in  the  old  man's  heart  there  lay 
Many  a  story. 

"Willingly,"  he  answered, 

"Yet  when  all's  said,  you'll  know  no  more  than  I 
Why  his  words  puzzle  me;    why,  when  I  pass 
His  cell,  I  always  think  that  I  can  see 
His  eyes,  his  following  eyes,  that  seemed  to  ask 
Over  and  over  again,  some  kind  of  question." 

He  thought  a  moment,  then  began  his  story 

As  if  by  careful  measuring  of  his  words 

He  tried  to  make  me  see  what  he  found  dim. 

"You  know  the  row  of  cells,"  he  said,  "they  built 
To  make  the  fourth  row  'round  the  hollow  square? 

They  front  the  East,  and  so  I  put  him  there. 
81 


I'd  hardly  like  to  say  what  was  the  reason, — 
It  seems  so  foolish;    but,  the  day  he  came, 
Just  as  the  big  door  opened,  I  had  seen 
Him  turn  his  head,  and  this  is  what  he  said: 
'And  it  is  I, — I,  who  have  loved  the  Dawn!' 
A  queer  thing,  wasn't  it?     I  suppose  he  thought 
That  he  would  never  see  it  any  more. 

"It's  strange  how  little  things  come  back  to  you! 
I  can  remember  when  he  saw  his  cell 
He  bent  his  head,  making  a  kind  of  greeting, 
Then  quickly  stepped  across  and  glanced  around: 
'And  this  is  what  I  have  to  call  my  home* 
Was  what  he  thought,  I  guess.     It  always  seems 
To  sicken  me  somehow,  to  show  'em  in, 
The  hopeful  ones  the  most,  I  know  so  well 
How  soon  the  eager  look  will  disappear!" 

"But  tell  me  what  he  was  in  prison  for?" 

I  said,  and  met  the  old  man's  quick  "What  for? 

Oh  well,  there  wasn't  room  enough  outside. 

Why  do  you  want  to  know?     What  does  it  matter? 

He  was  no  common  man.     You'd  think  by  now 

I'd  stop  my  foolish  bothering.     I'm  used 

Enough,  God  knows,  to  tangled  human  threads — 

Oh  what's  the  use  to  try  and  tell  it  now? 

I'm  such  a  fool!     I  can't  go  by  his  cell 

Without  the  wondering  clutching  at  me  here!" 

He  laid  his  hand  upon  his  breast;    I  thought 

His  mind  had  dwelt  too  long  with  pain,  and  now 

82 


His  fancies  troubled  him.     "Mad  then,  perhaps?" 
I  asked,  and  saw  my  blundering  words  had  been 
Salt  to  a  wound.     He  turned  away  and  said 
"No,  no,  he  was  not  that,  not  mad,"  and  stepped 
Beside  a  shelf  of  little  useless  things 
Fumbling  among  them. 

Presently  he  turned 

And  placed  within  my  hands  a  woman's  picture. 
I  took  it  silently,  afraid  to  comment. 
"Think  what  you  please,"  he  said,  "for  I  don't  know, 
As  no  one  came  to  take  away  his  things 
I  kept  the  picture.     It  was  dear  to  him." 

A  gentle  woman's  face  looked  up  at  me; 
A  tender  face,  lips  parted,  young  grave  eyes. 
I  seemed  to  see  within  their  depths  a  question, 
And  turned  to  meet  the  old  man's  twisted  smile. 
Nodding,  he  murmured,  "So,  you  see  it  too?" 
Then  took  the  picture  from  me  and  began 
Again,  though  haltingly,  his  troubled  tale. 

"At  first  he  read  and  spoke  and  ate  his  food 
As  if  he  thought  he  would  not  be  here  long 
And  must  be  patient.     Often  he  would  ask 
What  time  it  was,  or  if  it  rained  or  shone, 
Begging  for  outside  news,  and  when  I  brought 
Letters  or  papers,  seized  them  greedily 
And  strained  his  eyes  to  get  the  contents  quickly. 

Sometimes  he'd  hail  me  as  I  passed  along 
83 


With  such  a  flow  of  eager  questioning  talk, 
I  wondered  anyone  so  rich  in  words 
Could  bear  his  solitude  and  not  go  mad 
With  silence;    but — our  prison  rules  are  stern. 
I  shot  the  bolts  that  dulled  that  silver  voice, 
And  now  I  hear  it  echoing  down  the  years." 

The  old  man  rose  and  made  a  little  pretence 
To  put  the  picture  back  upon  the  shelf. 

"Well,  time  went  on,"  seating  himself,  he  said, 
"And  as  I  made  my  rounds  each  day  I  thought 
The  prisoner  seemed  to  draw  himself  away. 
Not  rudely;    more  as  if  he  could  not  break 
The  current  of  his  thoughts,  and  up  and  down 
He'd  walk;    they  all  do  that,  but  he  as  if 
He  had  some  light  inside  his  mind.     Don't  think 
I'm  crazy,  but, — it's  hard  to  put  in  words. 
Sometimes  I'd  have  my  little  try  to  break 
Across  the  distance.     With  a  sudden  smile 
He'd  lay  his  hand  upon  me —     'Yes,  I  know, 
I  know,'  and  so  would  push  me  to  the  door. 
I  feared  to  go  to  him,  and  yet  I  loved 
The  man  as  if  he'd  been  iny  son.     I  knew 
The  end  was  coming  soon.     My  heart  was  sore, 
But  I  was  powerless. 

"One  thing  alone 
Could  wean  him  from  his  strange  expectancy, 

A  little  written  word  that  came  half-yearly. 
84 


I  knew  that  it  was  due,  and  when  it  came 
I  beat  upon  his  door;    I  had  the  letter — 
Slowly  he  turned  to  meet  me  and  I  stopped, 
Seeing  it  was  too  late. 

"Then  from  my  hands 
He  took  the  letter,  lifting  it  silently, 
The  way  a  priest  lifts  up  the  sacrament, 
Then  gave  it  slowly  back  to  me  and  said, 
'Why  bring  me  bread?     So  little,  little  bread? 
Why  eke  my  life  along  so  grudgingly? 
Take  back  the  letter,  I  am  far  away, 
Keep  back  the  bread  and  I  shall  sooner  know.' 
And  followed  by  his  eyes,  I  left  the  cell 
And  soon  he  died. 

"No  no,  he  was  not  mad, 
But  only  one  to  whom  the  Dawn  was  real." 


85 


ELLIE 

SHE  came  to  do  my  nails. 

Came  in  my  door  and  stood  before  me  waiting, 

A  great  big  lummox  of  a  girl — 

A  continent. 

Her  dress  was  rusty  black 

And  scant, 

Her  hat,  a  melancholy  jumble  of  basement  counter  bargains. 

Her  sullen  eyes, 

Like  a  whipped  animal's, 

Shone  out  between  her  silly  bulging  cheeks  and  puffy  forehead. 

She  dropped  her  coat  upon  a  chair 

And  waited; 

Then,  at  a  word,  busied  herself 

With  files  and  delicate  scissors, 

Sweet-smelling  oils  and  my  ten  finger-tips. 

She  proved  so  deft  and  silent 

I  bade  her  come  again; 

And  twice  a  week 

While  summer  dawned  and  flushed  and  waned 

She  used  me  in  her  parasitic  trade. 

86 


The  dress  grew  rustier, 
The  hat  more  melancholy, 
And  Ellie  fatter. 

Each  time  she  came  I  wondered  as  she  worked 

If  thought  lay  anywhere 

Behind  that  queer  uncouthness. 

She  had  a  trick  of  seizing  with  her  eyes 

Each  passing  thing, 

An  insatiate  greediness  for  something  out  of  reach; 

And  yet  she  seemed  enwrapped 

In  a  kind  of  solemn  patience, 

Large,  aloof  and  waiting. 

We  hardly  ever  spoke — 

I  could  not  think  of  anything  worth  saying; 

One  does  not  chatter  with  a  continent. 

Finally  it  was  homing  time; 

The  seashore  town  was  raw  and  desolate 

And  idlers  flitted. 

The  last  day  Ellie  came 

Her  calm  was  gone,  she  had  been  crying. 

Fat  people  never  ought  to  cry; 

It's  awful.  .  .  . 

The  hot  drops  fell  upon  my  hand 

While  Ellie  dropped  the  scissors  suddenly 

And  sniffed  and  blew  and  sobbed 

In  disconcerting  and  unreserved  abandonment. 

I  said  the  usual  things; 

I  would  have  patted  her  but  for  the  grease, 

But  Ellie  was  not  comforted. 

7  87 


Not  until  the  storm  was  spent 

And  only  little  catching  breaths  were  left 

I  got  the  reason. 

"I'm  so  fat,"  she  gulped,  "so  awful,  awful  fat 

The  boys  won't  look  at  me." 

And  then  it  came,  the  stammered,  passionate  cry: 

Could  I  not  help? 

Could  I  not  find  a  medicine? 

We  talked  and  talked 

And  when  at  dusk  she  went,  a  teary  smile 

Hovered  a  moment  on  her  mo.uth 

And  in  those  sullen,  swollen  eyes 

A  little  hope  perhaps; 

I  did  not  know. 

The  city  and  its  interests  soon  engulfed  me. 

A  letter  or  two, 

A  doctor's  vague  advice  to  bant  and  exercise, 

And  Ellie  and  her  woes  passed  from  my  mind 

Until,  as  summer  dawrned  again, 

I  heard  that  she  was  dead. 

A  curious  letter  written  stiffly, 

From  Ellie's  mother, 

Told  me  I  was  invited  to  the  funeral 

"By  wish  of  the  Deceased." 

Wondering  I  travelled  to  the  little  town 
Where  the  sea  beat  and  groaned 
And  sorrowed  endlessly, 

And  made  my  way  down  the  steep  street 
88 


To  Ellie's  door. 

Her  mother  met  me  in  the  hall 

And  motioned, 

"She  wanted  you  to  sec  her," 

Then  ushered  me  into  an  awful  place,  the  parlor- 

A  place  of  emerald  plush  and  golden  oak 

Set  round  with  pride  and  symmetry, 

And  in  the  midst 

A  black  and  silver  coffin — 

Ellie's  coffin. 

Raising  the  lid  she  pointed  and  I  looked. 

Somewhere  in  Florence  Mino  da  Fiesole 

Has  made  a  tomb 

Where  deathless  beauty  lies  with  upturned  face. 

Two  gentle  hands,  palms  meeting, 

Touch  with  their  pointed  forefingers 

A  delicate  chin,  and  over  the  vibrant  body 

Clings  a  white  robe 

Enshrouding  chastely 

Warm  curving  lines  of  adolescent  grace. 

No  sleeper  this, — 

The  figure  glows,  alert,  awake,  aware, 

As  if  some  sudden  ecstacy  had  stolen  life 

And  held  imprisoned  there 

The  moment  of  attainment 

Rapt,  imperishable  and  fair. 

Even  so  lay  Ellie, 

And  when  from  somewhere  far  I  heard 
89 


The  mother's  voice 
I  listened  vacantly. 

The  woman  chattered  on, 

"The  dress  you  know,  white  chiffon,  like  a  wedding  dress- 

I  never  knew  she  had  it, 

She  must  'a  made  it  by  herself. 

It's  queer  it  fitted  perfectly 

An'  her  all  thin  like  that— 

She  must  'a  thought — " 

Then  black-robed  relatives  came  streaming  in 

To  look  at  Ellie. 

I  watched  them  start 

And  glance  around  for  explanation. 

The  mother  pinched  my  arm: 

"Don't  ask  me  anything  now,"  she  whispered; 

"Come  back  tonight." 

Then  old,  old  words  were  sung  and  prayed  and  droned, 

While  everybody  dutifully  cried, 

And  when  the  village  parson 

Rhythmically  proclaimed, 

And  this  mortal  shall  put  on  immortality, — 

With  a  great  welcoming 

And  a  great  lightening 

I  knew  at  last  the  ancient  affirmation. 

When  evening  came  I  found  the  mother 

Sitting  amidst  her  golden  oak  and  plush 

90 


In  a  kind  of  isolated  stateliness. 

She  led  me  in. 

"  'Twas  the  stuff  she  took  that  did  it," 

She  began;    "I  never  knew  till  after  she  was  dead. 

The  bottles  in  the  woodshed,  hundreds  of  'em 

All  labelled  'Caldwell's  Great  Obesity  Cure 

Warranted  Safe  and  Rapid.' 

Oh  ain't  it  awful?"  and  she  fell  to  crying  miserably; 

"But  wasn't  she  real  pretty  in  her  coffin?" 

And  then  she  cried  again 

And  clung  to  me. 


91 


THE  PARK  BENCH 

A  STRANGER,  A  MAN,  A  WOMAN 

The  pallid  night  wind  touched  their  burning  cheeks 
With  fetid  breath,  whispered  a  dim  distress 
And  flickered  out;   while  whirling  insects  danced 
Their  crazy  steps  with  death  around  the  light. 

THE  STRANGER 

The  night  is  hot  and  the  crowds  intolerable, 
May  I  sit  here  between  you  on  this  bench? 

THE  MAN 
I  s'pose  the  bench  is  free  to  anybody. 

THE  STRANGER 

I've  been  walking  up  and  down  and  wondering 
If  I  should  speak.     You  sat  here  silently, 
You  two.     I  could  not  tell  what  troubled  you. 

THE  WOMAN 

I  guess  I  was  thinkin',  Mister.     I  didn't  know 

There  was  any  other  person  anywhere  near. 

92 


THE  MAN 

I  don't  know  who  she  is.     She's  nothin'  to  me. 
She's  got  a  kid  there  in  her  shawl,  maybe 
Her  trouble's  there. 

THE  STRANGER 

It's  hard  to  keep  up  courage; 
The  heat  is  sickening,  it  weighs  you  down. 
I'd  like  to  see  the  child;    may  I  see  its  face? 

THE  WOMAN 
He's  two  weeks  old  today. 

"TuE  STRANGER 

A  sturdy  youngster! 

What  do  you  call  him?     What's  his  name,  I  mean? 
Don't  turn  away.     I  meant  no  harm,  you  know. 

THE  MAN 

Didn't  I  tell  you?     Something's  wrong,  I  guess.     Maybe 
He's  deserted,  with  another  comin'  on. 
Ask  her  again;    likely  she's  needin'  help. 

THE  STRANGER 

You  seem  unhappy.     Can't  you  tell  me  why? 

I'd  like  to  help  you  if  I  can,  because — 

93 


Well,  once  I  had  a  little  son  like  that. 

Come!   what  have  you  got  to  tell?     Out  with  the  story. 

See  there,  the  boy  is  stretching  out  a  hand, 

He  knows  a  friend  is  somewhere  'round,  eh,  Sonny? 

THE  WOMAN 

You'd  like  to  know  what  I  have  got  to  tell? 

I  guess  you  don't  know  what  you're  askin',  Mister. 

You  see  that  big  house  over  there?     You  gee 

This  baby  blinkin'  here?     Well,  that's  the  house 

His  father  lives  in.     I  just  found  it  out, 

Found  where  it  was,  I  mean,  then  I  come  here — 

Oh,  what's  the  sense  oj  tellin'  any  more? 

That's  all  there  is,  I  guess. 

THE  STRANGER 

I'd  like  the  story; 
Sometimes  the  pain  is  eased  by  speaking  out. 

THE  WOMAN 

I  don't  know  why  you  want  to  know  about  me, 
It's  no  concern  of  yours,  but  if  you'll  promise 
You'll  let  him  be,  I'll  tell  you  all  there  is. 

THE  STRANGER 

You  have  my  promise. 

94 


THE  WOMAN 

More'n  a  year  ago 

It  was,  I  seen  him  first,  an'  'twasn't  long 
Before  I  thought  a  lot  and  so  did  he. 
He  said  he'd  take  a  flat  and  furnish  it 
And  we'd  keep  house  together  all  alone. 
He  said  he  had  to  travel,  but  he'd  come 
As  often  as  he  could,  and  stay  as  long. 
I'd  worked,  you  know;   I  never  had  a  place 
I  liked  to  live  in,  an'  he  let  me  buy 
A  lot  of  things  I  wanted;    then  he'd  laugh 
And  say  I  liked  the  flat  so  much,  perhaps 
He'd  better  stay  away  and  not  muss  up 
The  tidies  on  the  chairs.     He  always  had 
A  lot  of  money.     When  he  gave  me  some 
He'd  never  say  how  much  it  was,  but  just, 
"Here's  more  to  buy  the  tidies  with,"  and  laugh. 
It  wasn't  long — that  little  time.     I  like 
To  think  about  it,  but  it  seems  so  far! 
Just  like  another  city  or  a  place 
That  wasn't  any  more;    I  don't  know  why, 
I  guess  the  flat's  there  still,  if  I  should  go — 
Hush,  honey,  hush — don't  you  be  cryin'  now. 

I  s'pose  I'd  ought  to  tell  you  that  he  said 
I  mustn't  have  the  kid.     I  didn't  care; 
I  didn't  want  it,  neither.     When  I  knew, 
I  had  to  tell,  because  I  got  so  sick. 

He  didn't  say  a  word  to  make  me  cry, 

95 


Not  much  of  anything.     He  put  a  lot 

Of  money  in  the  drawer  and  went  away — 

I  never  seen  him  since,  until — today. 

Until — today — over  there,  this  afternoon 

I  seen  him  laughin'  with  another  kid, 

And  mine  right  here,  right  here,  do  you  understand? 

THE  STRANGER 
I  think  I  understand,  but  please  go  on. 

THE  WOMAN 

I  told  you  he'd  put  money  in  the  drawer; 

I  hated  takin'  it;   but  o'  course  it  lasted 

For  quite  a  while, — until  I  had  to  go 

And  be  took  care  of  at  a  hospital. 

At  first  I  tried  to  find  him,  but  I  knew 

He  didn't  want  me  to.     I  thought  perhaps 

When  I  could  take  the  kid,  he'd  like  it  then. 

When  I  was  packin'  up  I  found  a  paper, 

A  bill,  I  guess,  all  rumpled,  in  a  coat 

He  left.     It  had  a  name  I  didn't  know. 

At  first  I  didn't  think,  but  lyin'  there 

All  quiet  in  the  hospital  I  saw 

It  was  his  name,  his  truly  name,  and  where 

He  lived  and  all.     This  afternoon  my  time 

Was  up — by  rights  I'd  oughta  left  the  ward 

Four  days  ago.     They  gave  me  this,  for  the  food, 

Directions  how  to  fix  it  right,  you  know, 

96 


And  told  me  I  could  go,  and  so  I  came. 
I  thought  he'd  surely  want  to  see  me  now, 
When  I  was  well  again,  just  like  I  was. 

I  waited  in  the  park  and  watched  the  house, 

It  looked  so  big  I  couldn't  ring  the  bell. 

Maybe  'twas  six  o'clock  I  saw  him  come; 

Just  by  the  steps  a  baby  carriage  turned 

And  waited  for  him  comin'  up  the  street. 

The  woman  wheelin'  it  called  out  "Look  there! 

There's  Daddy!     Can't  you  throw  a  kiss  to  him?" 

I  saw  him  lift  the  baby  'way  up  high, 

And  carry  it  in  the  house.     Then  I  come  here. 

THE  STRANGER 

I  see.     And  that  is  all  you  plan  to  do? 
I  mean,  you  won't  go  back? 

THE  WOMAN 

What  can  I  do? 

You  see,  he  doesn't  want  me  any  more. 
I'd  like  to  die,  but  here's  the  kid!     I  guess 
I  can't  leave  him.     An'  anyway  I'm  'fraid 
To  die  alone.     I  don'  know  what  I'll  do. 

THE  MAN 

I  wish  that  I  could  think  of  anything 
To  say  that  maybe'd  help  a  little  bit. 

May  I  just — shake  your  hand? — Excuse  me,  Mister. 

97 


THE  WOMAN 
I  didn't  know  as  you  was  listenin'  too. 

THE  MAN 

Perhaps  you'd  like  to  hear  what's  happened  to  me. 
You'll  see  that  somebody  has  known  the  like 
Of  what  you're  feelin',  maybe  it  will  help. 

THE  STRANGER 

Ah!    I  was  right  then?     Both  of  you  are  troubled? 
The  night  has  brought  us  three  together  here; 
We  must  be  friends.     It's  queer  how  loneliness 
Makes  one  reach  one,  as  I  have  reached,  to  you. 
I  think  each  one  of  us  needs  both  the  others. 

THE  MAN 

Well,  Mister,  you  don't  look  as  if  you'd  need 

Our  help,  but  maybe  you  do,  maybe,  who  knows? 

I'll  tell  you  what's  been  happening  to  me. 

I'm  sick  of  thoughts  goin'  round  and  round  and  round, 

I  wonder  if  anybody  '11  ever  know, 

I  mean  to  understand,  what  I've  been  thinkin'. 

THE  STRANGER 
Why  don't  you  start?    We'll  try  to  understand. 


THE  MAN 

I'll  tell  you  first  that  I'm  a  drinking  man, 
And  that's  a  thing  that  causes  lots  of  trouble. 
She's  not  to  blame,  she  stood  it  for  a  while. 
She  had  the  children,  there  are  two,  you  know, 
But  I  was  pretty  bad.     I  hated  it, 
But  there  it  was,  and  every  day  a  fight, 
And  oftener  and  oftener  I'd  lose. 
One  day  she  went  away  and  took  the  children. 
They  served  some  papers  on  me;    I  was  drunk 
And  didn't  care;    but  pretty  soon  I  knew 
That  she  had  gone  for  good.     A  lawyer  came 
And  talked  to  me,  after  she'd  talked  to  him. 
And  afterwards  I  saw  her  in  the  Court. 
The  Judge  said  I  must  leave  our  house,  and  if, 
For  two  years,  I  could  cut  the  liquor  out 
She'd  let  me  back. 

And  so  I  got  a  room 

About  two  blocks  away  where  I  could  see 
The  children  as  they  passed  along  to  school. 
Sometimes  I'd  walk  a  little  way  with  them, 
But  when  I  couldn't  answer  all  their  questions 
I'd  think  I'd  better  let  'em  be,  and  so 
I'd  only  watch  'em  from  behind  the  blind. 
Well,  Ma'am,  I  tried  my  best;   I  made  a  calendar 
To  mark  the  days.     I  got  a  good  promotion. 
The  time  went  by,  and  all  the  while  I  thought 

Two  years  are  only  seven  hundred  days 

99 


And  thirty  over!     I  can  stick  it  out! 

And  then  one  day  I'll  dress  myself  up  clean 

And  meet  the  children  and  we'll  go  back  home. 

I'd  marked  the  calendar  six  hundred  off 

And  eighty-six,  and  forty-four  were  left. 

The  heat  came  on  and  took  the  starch  all  out 

Of  everything.     I  didn't  care  what  happened. 

I  thought  she  didn't  mean  to  keep  her  promise — 

A  week  ago — oh,  well,  you  know  the  rest. 

I  don't  know  where  I've  been.     I'd  like  to  die, 

Only  I've  been  so  lonesome  in  that  room. 

I  seem  to  be  afraid  to  die  alone! 

THE  WOMAN 

I'm  awful  sorry,  Mister,  awful  sorry. 

Seems  like  tonight  most  everybody's  luck 

Has  all  gone  back  on  'em.     Thank  you  for  telliri'! 

THE  STRANGER 

There's  no  use  sitting  here  in  silence,  is  there? 
We've  got  to  find  some  way  to  help  you  both. 
I'd  like  to  if  I  can,  but  anyhow, 
We've  helped  each  other  just  by  speaking  out. 
If  you'll  wait  here  I'll  get  a  cab  and  take 
You  and  the  baby  to  the  Sisters'  Home. 
Perhaps  you'll  come  to  my  office  in  the  morning; 
I'd  like  to  talk  to  you;    I'm  sure  we'll  find 

There's  something  we  can  plan.     Here  is  the  address. 

100 


I  sha'n't  be  long,  keep  talking  so's  to  cheer  her, 
It  was  a  kindly  thought  of  yours  to  tell 
Your  story  after  hers.     We'll  find  some  way. 

THE  WOMAN 
What  'ud  he  mean?    About  the  Sisters'  Home? 

THE  MAN 
Some  place  where  you  an'  the  kid  can  go,  I  s'pose. 

THE  WOMAN 

It's  queer  how  everybody's  good  to  you 
'Ceptin'  the  only  one  you  want  to  be. 

THE  MAN 

He  said  it  wasn't  any  use  to  sit 
Here  silent;    that  you'd  better  speak  it  out; 
It  always  helped.     He  said  he'd  find  a  way. 
Do  you  believe  there's  anything  ahead 
For  you  or  me?     I  wonder  if  there  is. 

THE  WOMAN 

I'm  done  with  wonderin'  long  ago,  I  know! 
I  want  to  die!     God,  how  I  want  to  die! 
But  here's  the  kid,  he  didn't  ask  to  come, 

And  he's  so  little,  what  'ud  become  of  him? 

101 


THE  MAN 
Do  you  believe  there's  anything — over  there? 

THE  WOMAN 
There's  rest. 

THE  MAN 

I  know  there's  rest,  but  when  I've  sat 
All  by  myself  there  in  that  little  room 
Thinking  things  out,  sometimes  it  seemed  there  must 
Be  something  more.     I'd  mighty  well  like  to  know. 

THE  WOMAN 

If  I  could  find  someone  to  take  the  kid 
I'd  like  to  rest,  just  rest,  I  wouldn't  want 
Much  of  anything  more.     There  isn't  anything. 
I  wish  I  wasn't  scared  to  die  alone. 

THE  MAN 
You  said  that  once  before.     Do  you  mean  it,  really? 

THE  WOMAN 

What  are  you  thinkin'  about?     Say  it  out,  say  it  out! 

102 


THE  MAN 

What  if  we  went  together,  you  and  I? 
There  ain't  any  use  of  livin'  any  more. 
We'd  find  out  something,  anyhow. 


THE  WOMAN 

You  mean — 

THE  MAN 

I  mean  I'm  sick  o'  livin',  so  are  you. 
Put  the  kid  down  there  by  the  evergreens. 
He'll  come  and  find  it — he  said  he'd  get  a  cab; 
He'll  take  it  to  the  Sisters.     Oh,  I'm  crazy! 
Don't  put  it  there!     Take  it  up  again,  I  say! 
A  little  kid  like  that!    Don't  listen  to  me. 

THE  WOMAN 
He's  sleeping  now;   he'll  never  know  what's  happened. 

THE  MAN 

You're  goin'  to?     Well,  come  along  then  fast 
Or  he'll  come  back.     We're  both  of  us  crazy  now, 
But  what's  the  sense  of  livin'  any  more? 
Maybe  there's  something  better — over  there. 
8  103 


THE  WOMAN 

Wait  till  I  fix  him  comfortable.     Say,  Mister, 

I  was  lookin*  at  the  river,  by  the  pier, 

Only  I  was  afraid.     Will  you  stay  beside  me? 

THE  MAN 
Yes,  that's  the  place,  come  quickly,  'twon't  take  long. 

THE  WOMAN 

Maybe  we  could  find  a  piece  of  iron 

Or  something  heavy,  so's  they  wouldn't  find  us; 

There's  lots  around  the  pier. 

THE  MAN 

I'll  tell  you  what: 

I'll  tie  our  hands  together  to  the  iron 
So  the  waves  won't — 


104 


THE  SISTERS 

WE  four 

Live  here  together 

My  three  old  sisters  and  I 

In  a  white  cottage 

With  flowers  on  each  side  of  the  path  up  to  the  door. 

It  is  here  we  eat  together, 

At  eight,  one,  and  seven, 

All  the  year  round, 

It  is  here  we  sew  together 

On  garments  for  the  Church  sewing  society 

Here, — behind  our  fresh  white  dimity  curtains 

That  I'll  soon  have  to  do  up  and  darn  again. 

It  is  this  cottage  we  mean 

When  we  use  the  word  Home. 

Is  it  not  here  we  lie  down  and  sleep 

Each  night  all  near  together? 

We  never  meet 

My  three  old  sisters  and  I. 

We  never  look  into  each  others*  eyes 

We  never  look  into  each  others'  souls, 

Or  if  we  do  for  a  moment 

We  quickly  begin  to  talk  about  the  jam 

105 


How  much  sugar  to  put  in  and  when. 

We  run  away  and  hide,  like  mice  before  the  light; 

We  are  afraid  to  look  into  each  others'  souls 

So  we  keep  on  sewing,  sewing. 

My  three  old  sisters  are  old 

Very  old. 

It  is  not  such  a  great  while  since  they  were  born 

Yet  they  are  old. 

I  think  it  is  because  they  will  not  look  and  see. 

I  am  not  old 

But  pretty  soon  I  will  be. 

I  was  thinking  of  that  when  I  went  to  him 

Where  he  was  waiting. 

My  sisters  had  been  talking  together  all  the  long  afternoon 

While  I  sat  sewing  and  silent, 

Clacking,  clacking  away  while  the  lilac  scent  came  in  at  the 

window 

And  the  branches  beckoned  and  sighed. 
This  is  what  they  said — 

"How  did  that  paper  come  into  our  house?'* 
"Fit  to  be  burnt,  don't  you  think?" 
Then  the  third,  "It's  a  shameless  sheet 
To  print  such  a  sensual  thing." 

The  paper  lay  on  the  table  there,  between  my  three  sisters 
With  my  poem  in  it, — 
My  little  happy  poem  without  any  name. 
I  had  been  with  him  when  I  wrote  it  and  I  wanted  him  again. 

The  words  arose  in  my  heart  clamouring  for  birth — 

106 


And  there  they  were,  between  my  three  sisters. 

Each  read  it  in  turn 

Holding  the  paper  far  off  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers. 

Then  they  hustled  it  into  the  fire 

Giving  it  an  extra  poke  with  the  tongs,  a  vicious  poke. 

Then  each  sister  settled  back  to  her  sewing 

With  a  satisfied  air. 

I  looked  at  them  and  I  wondered. 

I  looked  at  each  one, 

And  I  went  to  him  that  night — 

Where  he  was  waiting. 


My  three  old  sisters  are  dying 

Though  they  do  not  know  it. 

They  are  not  dying  serenely 

After  life  is  over, 

They  are  just  getting  dryer  and  dryer 

And  sharper  and  sharper; 

Soon  there  will  not  be  any  more  of  them  at  all. 


I  am  not  like  them 

I  cannot  be 

For  I  have  a  reason  for  living. 

While  they  were  picking  their  little  pale  odourless  blossoms 

I  gathered  my  great  red  flower 

And  oh  I  am  glad,  glad, 

For  now  when  the  time  comes  I  can  die  serenely, 

I  can  die  after  living. 

107 


But  first  what  is  to  come? 

I  am  going  to  give  my  three  old  sisters  a  shock 

Then  what  a  rumpus  there  will  be! 

They  will  upbraid  and  reproach 

And  then  they  will  whisper  to  each  other,  nodding  slowly 

and  sadly 

Telling  each  other  it  is  not  theirs  to  judge. 
So  they  will  become  kind  and  pitiful 
Affirming  that  I  am  their  sister 
And  that  they  will  stick  by  and  see  me  through. 
But  underneath  they  will  be  touching  me  with  the  lifted 

tips  of  their  fingers. 

They  would  like  to  hustle  me  into  the  fire 
With  an  extra  poke  of  the  tongs. 

Perhaps  I  will  pretend  to  hang  my  head, 

Perhaps  I  will  to  please  them, 

I  am  very  obliging — 

But  in  my  heart  I  shall  be  laughing  writh  a  great  laughter, 

A  great  exaltation. 

Yes  they  will  upbraid  and  reproach 

In  grave  and  sisterly  accents 

And  mourn  over  me, 

One  who  has  fallen; 

Yet  I  suspect 

As  each  one  goes  to  her  cold  little  room, 

Deep  in  her  breast  she  will  envy 

With  a  terrible  envy 

The  child  that  is  mine 

108 


And  the  night 

The  incredible  night 

When  the  sun  and  the  moon  and  the  stars 

Bent  down 

And  gave  me  their  secrets. 


109 


REASON 

DOCTOR!    Doctor!    I  want  you  to  come  in. 

Doctor!    Don't  you  hear  me?    Don't  go  by! 

That's  right,  come  in  here  now  and  shut  the  door. 

Sit  down  there  in  that  chair 

And  listen. 

Don't  sit  there  with  that  silly  smile  all  over  you. 

I'm  going  to  make  you  listen. 

You  know  when  I  first  came  they  wanted  me  to  talk. 

I  could  see  them  trying,  with  little  tricks  and  questions. 

Well,  now  I  will, — 

I'll  tell  you  if  you'll  let  me  out. 

Will  you,  Doctor?    Will  you? 

Those  bars  there  at  the  window  make  me  sick, 

And  the  screaming  all  around. 

You  have  to  holler  too,  to  keep  from  hearing! 

The  nurse  said  I'd  be  in  the  padded  room 

If  I  kept  on — 

Say,  Doctor,  will  you  let  me  out 

After  I've  told  you  everything  there  is? 

Will  you?    Will  you?    Will  you? 

Oh  very  well, 

You  can  open  the  door  then  now. 

110 


I  don't  want  you  any  more;    I'll  never  tell — 

Say,  Doctor,  don't  go  yet  awhile; 

Turn  round,  don't  go,  I  want  to  talk  to  you. 

There,  please  sit  down  again,  I'll  promise  not  to  holler. 

I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  and  then  you'll  sec — 

You'll  let  me  go,  I  know  you  will. 

I  tell  you  I've  got  to  go  and  find  'em, 

Find  'em  all — Father  and  Grandfather, 

All  that  made  me  go  back  home, 

That  made  me  do  it — 

But  you  don't  know, 

I'll  have  to  find  some  place  to  start  at. 

The  first  night  that  he  tried  to  get  at  me,  and  he  like  that, 

I  cried, 

Soon  as  he  saw  me  crying  he  went  off 

And  got  a  quilt 

And  made  a  bed  out  in  the  sitting-room. 

He  got  up  early  so  I  didn't  see  him. 

I  thought  all  day, 

And  I  kissed  him  when  he  came  at  supper  time. 

That  night  he  seemed  just  like  he  was  at  first, 

I  mean  when  we  were  married  first, 

I  thought  he  wouldn't  do  it  ever  again — 

Say,  Doctor,  don't  you  tell, 

But  somebody  came  when  I  was  out 

And  fixed  his  food  up  so's  he'd  want  the  stuff, 

I  know  who  it  was,  but  I  won't  tell, 

Not  till  I'm  out  of  here. 

Ill 


She  did  it  out  of  spite,  I  know,  I  know — 

Doctor,  who  is  that  hollerin'?     Make  her  stop — 

I  guess  you'd  think  it  "mattered"  some 

If  you  heard  it  all  the  time — 

Well,  finally  I  couldn't  keep  him  in  the  sitting-room, 

I  had  to  let  him  in,  he  hammered  so, 

And  then —     Oh,  Doctor,  stop  her  please! 

I  don't  see  what  she's  hollerin'  for, 

Nobody  got  in  her  bed  reeling  drunk — 

I  couldn't  help  him  coming — I  couldn't,  an'  I  tried! 

Next  day  I  went  around  and  did  the  dishes  up, 

And  cooked  the  dinner  ready,  and  all  the  time  I  thought 

"Supposing  it's  happened — what'll  the  child  be  then? 

What'll  I  have  to  bring  into  the  world? 

Supposing  it's  happened — " 

Perhaps  it  was  nearly  supper  time, 

I  don't  know  clearly, 

But  I  couldn't  stay,  I  couldn't! 

I  left  a  letter  for  him  and  went  home. 

I  walked  around  the  corner  of  the  house  and  there  they  were 

Sitting  at  supper,  Father  and  Grandfather 

And  Ma  and  little  Ben. 

I  stood  and  looked  at  them. 

It  seemed  such  a  little  while  since  I  was  sitting  there 

Not  thinkin'  anything, 

Finally  I  went  in  and  said 

"I've  come  home, — I've  come  away  from  Jim,  I  mean. 

112 


Don't  everybody  look  at  me  like  that — 
I  tell  you  I've  come  home."   • 

Then  Ma  got  up  and  took  me  in  her  room 

And  fixed  the  bed  for  me — 

She  said  we'd  talk  it  over  in  the  morning. 

I  stayed  pretty  near  two  months  at  home, 

And  all  the  while  Father  and  Grandfather 

And  even  little  Ben 

Were  at  me  to  go  back, 

Father  kept  saying  all  he  wanted  was  my  happiness. 

And  then  they  got  the  clergyman 

And  he  talked  just  the  same. 

And  then  Jim  came. 

They  all  were  nice  to  him  and  Jim  was  dreadfully  sorry. 

He  hadn't  had  a  drop,  he  said,  and  if  I'd  come 

He'd  never  touch  a  single  thing  again — 

Oh,  Doctor,  make  her  stop! 

Go  make  her  stop,  I  say,  what's  she  got  to  holler  for? 

Don't  forget  you  promised  if  I'd  tell 

You'd  let  me  out — 

Do  you  want  to  hear  the  rest? 

I'm  telling  you  straight  enough,  more'n  I  told  the  family — 

I  never  told  them  anj^thing, 

I  mean  what  I  thought  might  happen, 

And  nobody  ever  had  the  sense  to  guess 

What  I  was  afraid  of, 

Nobody  but  Ma, 

113 


And  after  the  first  she  didn't  do  anything  but  cry 
And  say  Father  knew  best. 

The  second  time  Jim  came,  I  said  I'd  go, 

I  was  so  tired  of  everybody  talkin'  at  me — 

Oh  I  don't  want  to  tell  you  any  more — 

I'm  crazy  with  her  hollerin'. 

You  know  the  rest — I  squeezed  his  eyes  out — 

'Cause  he  was  lookin'  at  me 

When  I  let  him  in — after  his  hammerin' — 

Then  they  brought  me  here — 

Doctor,  I've  told  you  everything. 

Doctor,  let  me  out! 

Let  me  out!    Let  me  out!    Let  me  out! 


114 


HER  SECRET 

MY  secret  and  I  stand  here  in  front  of  the  glass. 

We  are  bedecking  ourselves  for  an  evening  of  gayety. 

We  look  down  and  make  our  lips  smile — 

We  look  up  and  make  ourselves  laugh, 

And  then  we  turn  and  look  into  the  glass  again 

To  see  if  others  will  believe  that  our  eyes  are  smiling  too. 

How  long  will  it  last,  the  evening? 

It  will  be  three  hours  at  least,  maybe  four. 

There  will  be  music  and  bright  dresses  and  clinking  and 

chattering 
And  everybody  will  laugh;    there  will  be  a  great  deal  of 

laughter. 

Everybody  will  go  about  with  smiling  lips, 
But  if  you  stop  and  look 
You  will  see  that  everybody's  eyes  are  hungry. 

None  of  them  shall  know  my  secret 

No  one  knows  that — 

Not  any  one  in  all  the  world. 

There  was  one  other  knew 
But  he  is  dead. 

I  heard  that  he  was  dead  just  now — 

115 


A  little  while  ago — 

Just  a  few  minutes  ago  by  the  clock. 

I  was  putting  on  my  beautiful  dress 

When  I  heard  a  list  read  out  from  the  paper,  many  names, 

A  long,  long  list. 

I  went  on  fastening  my  embroidered  slippers 

While  they  read  and  read — 

It  came  while  I  was  buttoning  my  gloves,  my  long  gloves; 

There  are  a  number  of  buttons. 

No  one  shall  guess  my  secret. 

There  is  a  woman  somewhere, 

I  do  not  know  where  she  is; 

But  all  her  friends  are  hastening, 

Coming  from  all  about 

To  surround  her  with  their  melancholy  faces. 

Soon  they  will  get  for  her  a  black  dress  and  a  long  black  veil. 

They  will  lead  her  faltering  to  a  church, 

Her  two  wondering  children  held  to  her  side,  one  by  each 

hand. 

She  will  be  very  important. 
They  will  say  beautiful  things  about  him — 
Beautiful  sad  things — 

And  all  the  time,  hid  by  her  long  black  veil, 
Her  eyes  will  be  smiling — smiling. 

And  what  have  I  of  him? 

What  shall  I  take  with  me  to  the  party? 

Only  the  memory  of  that  last  dawn 

When  I  gave  him  all  and  bade  him  go. 

116 


A  LITTLE  GIRL 


I  SEE  a  little  girl  sitting  bent  over 

On  a  white  stone  door-step. 

In  the  street  are  other  children  running  about; 

The  shadows  of  the  waving  trees  flicker  on  their  white  dresses. 

Some  one  opens  the  door  of  the  house 

And  speaks  to  the  child  on  the  steps. 

She  looks  up  and  asks  an  eager  question. 

The  figure  shakes  her  head  and  shuts  the  door. 

The  child  covers  up  her  face 

To  hide  her  tears. 


117 


n 


Three  children  are  playing  in  a  garden — 
Two  boys  and  an  awe-struck  little  girl; 
They  have  plastered  the  suminer-house  with  clay, 
Making  it  an  unlovely  object. 

A  grown-up  person  comes  along  the  path. 

The  little  girl  runs  to  her  and  stops, 

Asking  the  same  question — "Where  is  my  Mother?" 

The  grown-up  person  does  not  make  any  answer. 

She  looks  at  the  summer-house  and  passes  along  the  path. 

The  little  girl  goes  slowly  into  the  house 
And  climbs  the  stairs. 


118 


m 


The  little  girl  is  alone  in  the  garden. 

A  white-haired  lady  of  whom  she  is  afraid 

Comes  to  find  her  and  tell  her  a  joyful  thing. 

The  little  girl  runs  to  the  nursery. 

The  young  nurse  is  doing  her  hair  in  front  of  the  glass. 

The  little  girl  sees  how  white  her  neck  is 

And  her  uplifted  arms. 

Tomorrow  they  will  be  gone — they  will  not  be  here — 
They  are  going  to  find — Her. 
The  young  nurse  turns  and  smiles 
And  takes  the  little  girl  in  her  arms. 


119 


IV 


The  little  girl  is  travelling  on  a  railway  train, 
Everything  rushes  by  very  fast, — 
Houses,  and  children  in  front  of  them, 
Children  who  are  just  staying  at  home. 

The  train  cannot  go  fast  enough, 

The  little  girl  is  saying  over  and  over  again, 

"My  Mother — My  onliest  Mother — 

I  am  coming  to  you,  coming  very  fast." 


120 


The  little  girl  looks  up  at  a  great  red  building 

With  a  great  doorway. 

It  opens  and  the  little  girl  is  led  in, 

Looking  all  about  her. 

A  Lady  in  a  white  dress  and  white  cap  comes. 

After  a  long  time 

A  man  in  a  black  coat  comes  in. 

He  says  "She  is  not  well  enough,  I  am  afraid." 

The  little  girl  is  led  away. 

She  always  remembers  the  words 

The  man  in  the  black  coat  said. 


121 


VI 


The  little  girl  is  waiting  in  the  big  hallway, 

In  the  house  of  the  white-haired  lady. 

At  the  end  of  the  path  she  can  see  the  summer-house 

With  its  queer  grey  cover. 

The  hall  clock  ticks  very  slowly. 
The  hands  must  go  all  around  again 
Before  the  mother  will  come. 

Now  it  is  night. 

The  little  girl  is  lying  in  her  bed. 

There  is  a  piano  going  somewhere  downstairs. 

She  is  telling  herself  a  story  and  waiting. 

Soon  She  will  come  in  at  the  door. 

There  will  be  a  swift  shaft  of  light 

Across  the  floor. 

And  She  will  come  in  with  a  rustling  sound. 

She  will  lie  down  on  the  bed 

And  the  little  girl  will  stroke  her  dress  and  crinkle  it 

To  make  the  sound  again. 

Pretty  soon  the  mother  will  step  slowly  and  softly  to  the  door, 


And  quietly  turn  the  handle. 

The  little  girl  will  speak  and  stop  her, 

Asking  something  she  has  asked  many  times  before, — "My 

Father?" 
But  the  mother  has  never  anything  to  answer. 


123 


VII 


The  mother  and  the  little  girl  are  sitting  together  sewing. 

Outside  there  is  snow. 

A  woman  with  a  big  white  apron 

Comes  to  the  door  of  the  room  and  speaks. 

The  mother  drops  her  work  on  the  floor 
And  runs  down  the  stairs. 

The  little  girl  stands  at  the  head  of  the  stairs 
And  cries  out  "My  Father!"  but  no  one  hears. 
They  pass  along  the  hall — 

The  little  girl  creeps  down  the  stairs, 
But  the  door  is  closed. 


124 


VIII 

The  little  girl  is  held  and  rocked, 
Held  so  tightly  it  hurts  her. 
She  moves  herself  free. 

Then  quickly  she  puts  her  face  up  close, 
And  there  is  a  taste  of  salt  on  her  tongue. 


125 


IX 


In  a  bed  in  an  upper  chamber, 

A  bed  with  high  curtains, 

A  woman  sits  bowed  over. 

Her  hair  streams  over  her  shoulders, 

Her  arms  are  about  two  children. 

The  older  one  is  trying  to  say  comforting  things, 
The  little  girl  wants  to  slip  away, — 
There  are  so  many  people  at  the  foot  of  the  bed- 
Out  of  the  window,  across  the  yellow  river 
There  are  houses  climbing  up  the  hillside. 
The  little  girl  wonders  if  anything  like  this 
Is  happening  in  any  of  those  houses. 


126 


Many  children  and  grown-up  people 

Are  standing  behind  their  chairs  around  a  bright  table 

Waiting  for  the  youngest  child  to  say  grace. 

It  is  very  troublesome  for  the  youngest  child 

To  get  the  big  words  out  properly. 

The  little  girl  interrupts  and  says  the  grace  quickly. 

The  white-haired  lady  of  whom  the  little  girl  is  afraid 

Is  angry. 

The  little  girl  breaks  away  and  runs 

To  the  room  of  the  bed  with  the  high  curtains. 

She  rushes  in — 

The  room  is  empty. 

She  comes  back  to  the  table, 

But  she  does  not  dare  to  ask  the  question. 

She  remembers  the  great  red  building 

With  the  great  doorway. 


127 


XI 


The  little  girl  is  trying  to  read  a  fairy  story. 

There  is  nobody  in  the  garden. 

There  is  nobody  in  the  house  but  the  white-haired  lady. 

Someone  comes  to  tell  her  her  father  is  there — 
She  does  not  want  to  see  him, 
She  is  afraid. 


128 


XII 

The  front  door  is  open. 

There  is  rain,  leaves  are  whirling  about. 

A  carriage  with  two  horses 

And  a  coachman  high  up,  holding  a  long  whip, 

Stands  waiting  in  front  of  the  door. 

The  little  girl  is  holding  onto  the  banisters. 

They  take  away  her  hands  from  the  banisters 

And  lead  her  to  the  carriage  in  front  of  the  door. 

Someone  gets  in  behind  her, 

The  carriage  door  is  shut, 

The  little  girl  draws  herself  to  the  far  corner. 

They  drive  away. 

The  little  girl  looks  back  out  of  the  window. 


129 


xm 

The  little  girl  is  in  a  strange  house 

Where  there  are  young  men  called  uncles 

Who  talk  to  her  and  laugh. 

A  large  lady  sits  by  the  table  and  knits  and  smiles, 

In  her  basket  are  different  coloured  balls  of  wool, 

Pretty  colours,  but  not  enough  to  make  a  pattern. 

There  is  a  curly  soft  little  black  dog 

That  hides  under  the  table. 

The  uncles  pull  him  out, 

And  he  tries  to  hold  onto  the  carpet  with  his  claws. 

The  little  girl  laughs— 

But  at  the  sound  she  turns  away 

And  goes  up  to  her  room  and  shuts  the  door. 

Pretty  soon  the  large  lady  comes  to  her 

And  takes  her  on  her  lap  and  rocks  and  sings. 


130 


XIV 

The  little  girl  has  grown  taller, 

She  is  fair  and  sweet  and  ready  for  love, 

But  over  her  is  a  great  fear 

As  she  remembers  her  mother's  weeping. 


THE    END 


., 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


OCT  20  1334 

AUG    2    1940 

8Nftirf4flJp 

LD  21-100m-7,'33 

U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


